


Krisis Kontrol

by Nygard



Category: Drag queen - Fandom, RuPaul's Drag Race RPF, katya zamolodchikova - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Katya Zamolodchikova - Freeform, Katya x Reader, RuPaul's Drag Race References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nygard/pseuds/Nygard
Summary: Katya/Brian x ReaderDrama/Romance/Comedy/AngstSome scenes may not be appropriate for all readers and may become triggering at some points in the story.You are a costume designer in West Hollywood, most of your commissions come from local drag queens. The majority of your free time is spent in drag bars making connections and getting invited into dressing rooms. Your best friend Joshua Eads-Brown (Ginger Minj)just so happens to be performing at your regular club when you finally get to meet the one drag queen that has always enticed you: Katya.**References to the Queens will both be done in She/He pronouns and Drag Name/Real Name**





	1. Black Velvet

You peer into the dark nightclub while you tap loudly on the tinted window. It’s only seven in the evening but the staff are inside working quickly to prepare for the night ahead of them. It’s always hectic on Wednesday nights: a staggering lineup of talented drag queens from the Hollywood district gather to provide over three hours of nonstop entertainment. The only catch to the event is that it’s a wild card show. They never post a roster of the queens for the night but it never stops patrons from crowding into the venue every week. You have never missed a show since you moved to the West Hollywood area over a year ago.

All of the regular staff and managers know you by name; you are always the first in the long line of club-goers. A few months ago the managers agreed to let you in early since you’re always so respectful of the staff and performers; additionally, it doesn’t hurt that you tip well. In fact, you blow most of your expendable income at this bar.

You tap on the glass door again, rapping your short, black, fingernails on the glass. You catch the eye of a girl in a cocktail dress running a mop over the rundown wooden floors. You exchange a wave as she bounces over to let you in the front door. Quiet, classical music drifts out from the club, a bewildering contrast to the ear-splitting Top Forty that would blast from the speakers in about an hour.

“The second you stop showing on Wednesdays is the moment I file a missing persons report, you know.” She giggles with a knowing look. Her name is Delilah; her long black hair is pulled away from her face in a high ponytail, her black cocktail dress clinging to her curvy figure, you can’t help but stare for second.

“I’m sure of it, Deli.” You pull your eyes up to meet hers, trying not to be as creepy as you feel. She accompanies you as you head to the back of the club: there are round, high top tables scattered around to encompass the large, black stage. The stage stands about 4 feet high and has a long catwalk in front of it with a shimmery, pink curtain at the back of it. You walk over and take a seat on one of the barstools at a high top; you prop up your elbows on the table and rest your head in your hands.

“You got any intel on the lineup?” You peer down at her with a smirk; in the distance a glass shatters followed by an irritated growl, you flick your eyes to one of the bartending stations kitty-corner.

“All you do is use me” Delilah pouts and stomps her foot dramatically, you snicker at her. “I heard some Ru Girls are coming tonight: Raven, Ginger, Morgan is a maybe, Adore is in town tonight, too.” She claps her hands excitedly and bounces on her heels. “But...I hear that your girlfriend is making an appearance tonight.”

“Bitch, please, I’m saving myself for RuPaul.” You lay your hand across your heart dramatically and let out a dreamy sigh.

She pulls an unimpressed face and crosses her arms, “No, you idiot. Katya is going to be here. You get all goo-goo eyed at her. Every... Single... Time.” Her hands have folded together and tucked under her chin, she bats her eyelashes mocking you.

“Whatever. Hey, don’t you have a job you should be doing?” You snip at her with a smile.

“I’m doing it right now: trying to reel in your crazy.” She flicks her pony at you and turns to pick up her mop again calling back over her shoulder, “Don’t deny it, bitch.”

Giggling to yourself you pull a ten out of your handbag and hop off the barstool; your heels clicking on the wood floor as you approach the bartending station. You cross your arms on the laminated surface of the bar, happy to find that it isn’t sticky yet. A tall, lean man with a mohawk is bent over behind the counter sweeping up pieces of glass.

“Hey, Bobbypin!” You say in a sing-song voice; his thin face turns up to meet your gaze, his black lips turn up into a gentle smile. Robert is one of the night managers here; he’s always been a little too sweet on you, you made it clear that you weren’t interested but he always over pours your cocktails so it was a good deal for you.

“Hey, Y/N, what can I do you for?” He stands up and shakes the dustpan into the trashcan under the counter. Wiping his hands on his apron he turns to you with.

“I charge two hundred an hour.” You grin at him while drumming your nails on the bar. You slide the ten dollar bill to him. “Vodka soda, please, honey. Preferably in a glass that isn’t broken.”

He blows a breathy laugh through his nose while making your drink. “I was on a streak there for a while; it’s been, like, a month since I broke some shit.” He has black eye shadow brushed across his lids that you notice while he lowers his eyes to pour the vodka into a highball glass. His eyes meet yours again and he pushes the glass across the laminate at you. He goes to pull change out of the cash register and you cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes. With a sigh he closes the drawer again.

“Cheers” You wink at him and turn to head back to your table. Your gait falters as you see a short, round man leaning against your barstool. Ginger gives you a little flick of her wrist and you shuffle as quickly as you can in your heels. Your free arm is stretched out to the side and you promptly wrap it around her neck. You sit your drink on the high top before pulling her into a hug.

“Girl, watch the mug.” Her Floridian accent is gruff but her face is beaming at you. She has her face beat already but she’s snatch-bald, clad in a baggy t-shirt, jean shorts and some tattered running shoes. Her round face is carved out with careful placement of shadow and highlights, her maroon lips are parted showing her gleaming, white teeth. She turns her head and tries to keep her face away from you while she hugs you back.

“I’m so glad to see you, it’s been forever. You should have seen it; I was travelling to luxurious destinations...like Wisconsin and Utah, no autographs please.” Her hand moves to flick her hair back dramatically and realises she’s not wearing a wig, she grumbles to herself, “Damn it.”

You laugh at her, taking a step away to sip your vodka soda, “A real international superstar right in front of me, I’m star struck, really.” You smirk, setting your drink to the side, leaning your elbow on the table.

“But how is she, though! You don’t look like complete shit so you got somethin’ going on for yourself.” Her hand gestures vaguely to your figure. You’re dressed in a flowy, black, strapless dress with a corset cinched on top of it in shiny kitten heels. The dress has red flowers embroidered around the bottom of the skirt that falls just above your knees.

“Hateful bitch” You sniff, “So...I hear Katya is in tonight,” your gaze lowers to your hands, losing all nerve. You start picking at the red nail polish on your fingers.

“She managed to pry the lid off of her tomb, unfortunately.” She scans your face with narrowed eyes, “Girl, tell me you are not still after that crazy bitch.”

“I’m not.” You snap back a little too quickly and Ginger plants her hand on her hip shifting her weigh to one leg, one painted eyebrow cocked.

“Remind me to never playing strip poker with you because you are an awful liar and I don’t wanna see that shit.” Her lips are pinched to one side as she eyes you. “Maybe I’ll pass a note in study hall for you. It’s gettin’ late; I have to go throw on an ugly gown.”

“You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Which one are you wearing: the red one with the slit?” You pick your drink up again and take another swig, it was already getting flat and you grimaced.

Her gaze is focussed on her navy blue, press-on nails, she was examining them and polishing them with her thumb “It’s the blue one with the sleeves, but I’ll have to pull that red one out again. It was actually kind of nice” She shot a sweet smile with a shrug.

“Can’t you ever just be nice?” You cross your arms and tilt your head to the side tapping your heel.

“Hey, I can be sweet sometimes to certain people, it happens. Don’t tell anyone, okay?” She takes a minute to herself and sighs rolling her eyes, “Thank you for making my dresses...they’re pretty.”

“See? I knew you could do it! Proud of you, now fuck off.” You giggle and slap her shoulder playfully. She turns on her heel, flicking a half-hearted wave over her shoulder as she strolls over to the backdoor; she opens the door with some difficulty.

“This bitch is heavy, damn.” She calls out before letting the door click shut behind her.

You are somewhat of a celebrity for local drag queens. Your art school background made it easy for you to become a costume designer. You run your own business out of your apartment; most of your clientele reside in West Hollywood which pushed you to move here. Your talent is known throughout the community because of your attention to detail and efficient work ethic. Most of your work is commissioned by small-time queens but every once in a while you get the opportunity to design for Drag Race alumni; a lot of them being regional workhorses like Raven, Morgan McMichaels, and Delta Work. You met Ginger Minj a few years back at Micky’s bar when she asked about Morgan’s outfit. You’ve been best friends since.

The time seems to pass faster with another vodka soda; you relocate to the side of the catwalk to get a front row spot when the doors open to the general public. You lean against the stage cursing the club for not putting out chairs, people gradually made their way to hover around the stage chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

The lights dim as the show begins with a few local favourites performing numbers that you’ve seen them repeat many times. You still tipped in singles and cheered at splits and costume changes. Later on in the show Morgan made an appearance performing one of her staple lipsyncs: “Bad Reputation” by P!nk, during her set she took a moment to bend down and grab both of your hands and kiss them. You threw a ten at her and she tucked it into her panties snapping her teeth at you with a wink.

Raven is up next performing “You’ve Changed” by Sia, she makes you tuck your tip between her tits as the crowd screams. Adore, of course, sings live with “My Address is Hollywood”, she blows a kiss at you as she takes the ten out of your hand. Ginger takes the stage in her bright blue gown, it has a deep V cut into the front with wide bell sleeves, the scattered rhinestones on the hem of the skirt catching the light as she lipsyncs “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by Doris Day. She leans down to take your ten dollar bill and then stuffs it down into your bra, patting your tits before standing back up to finish her set.

The club goes dark again, the host comes up to announce the end of the show and your heart sinks in your chest. A head pops out from between the curtains to yell at the host. She walks over and leans in to listen to the person behind the curtains, she nods and returns to the center of the stage.

“Well, fuck me. We have one more bitch if you guys are still awake out there.” The crowd cheers wildly, “But then that’s it! I’m not spoiling you anymore, I’ll give you a complex or some shit. Without further ado: put your hands together and your dicks between your legs for the red scare from All Star two: Katya!” The roar of the crowd is deafening as the host exits the stage.

A guitar fades in as the opening to Black Velvet by Alannah Myles starts to blare over the speakers. A spotlight shines at the center of the gaudy, pink curtains. As Alannah’s voice starts to croon into the club the curtains part. Katya is standing there in a black, lacy, full-body leotard; her long, blonde hair is curled into large waves flowing down her chest. Her hands are resting on her hips. She starts to saunter forward as her fingers wander up her body, caressing her breasts and neck. Her plump red lips parting to sync to the words.

_Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell_  
_Jimmy Rogers on the Victrola up high_  
_Mama’s dancin’ with a baby on her shoulder_  
_The sun is settin’ like molasses in the sky_

When she reaches the end of the catwalk she bites her lip and trails her hands back down her body to grope her crotch. She bends her knees and spreads them wide as she crouches, her hands running along the insides of her thighs. She notices you in the front row and bats her long lashes at you while licking her lips. You’ve seen her perform here a handful of times, when she recognizes you it makes your heart flutter a little. While swaying her hips to the song she slowly stands again. She turns on her heels and stomps to the back of the stage again.

_Black velvet in that little boys smile_  
_Black velvet with that slow southern style_

Once in front of the curtains she faces the audience, she flashes a blinding smile. With control she’s slowly lowering herself into a spilt, feigning a yawn. She pauses half way down holding up a finger, starts to descend again before stopping for another second, and finally rests into a full split. Katya’s long, red nails are scratching up and down her chest and eventually finding their way into her hair. She rolls onto her front and drags herself up the catwalk by her arms. Tips rain down on her, she lies on her back, grabbing the cash and rubbing it between her legs as she arches her back.

She catches your eye again and reaches out in your direction to caress the stage as she writhes around. You pull a twenty out of your pocket and slide it into her hand. Her eyes twinkle when she sees the bill, her piercing, blue eyes are trained on you while she mouths the lyrics. Your face flushes as you chew the inside of your cheek.

Beside you there’s a fan screeching at her and reaching her arms out to grope Katya’s thigh. You catch a small twitch on Katya’s face that’s not intense enough for the audience to really notice. She’s back on her knees crawling around to earn more tips as she eyes the audience. Her lips enunciating every syllable as she runs her tongue over her teeth. Her hips sway back and forth as the black lace stretches feebly over the padding on her ass.

The girl beside you is dressed in a Trixie Mattel t-shirt and distressed jeans, her shoulder length brown hair is plastered to her face with sweat. She screams over the music trying to get her attention, chanting about her being robbed on All Stars. Suddenly her hand darts across the stage and slaps Katya’s ass. You see Katya’s jaw clench giving a few slow blinks but shakes her head and continues to perform her set, moving away from the fan and up to the main stage.

Your hand reaches out to twist the girl’s outstretched wrist; you pull her around and glare into her face. “Hands off the merchandise, bitch.” You growl and squeeze her wrist tighter, twisting a little further. “You break it, you buy it,” your eyes rake over her outfit with an eyebrow cocked, “and it looks like you’re pretty cheap.”

On stage, the Russian has pulled herself into a back bend in front of the pink curtains. Her legs kick over her head and she’s in a handstand before falling forward into a split. Even from that distance her eyes are glued on you, watching the scene that you’ve created. She starts crawling on her hands and knees up the catwalk, slinking and bending low like she’s stalking prey. Her tongue is running over her bright red lips.

_A new religion that’ll bring you to your knees_  
_Black velvet if you please_

The girl’s mouth hangs open in offense, “Katya was robbed: it’s obvious! Besides, this is what I paid for.” Her hand reaches to pry your fingers off of her wrist. “Now step the fuck off, cunt.” She spits on your face when she gets her hand back, shaking her head in exasperation. She turns to face the stage again while taking a step away from you.

Katya’s eyes always seem to come back to rest on you, your face is pulling tight and your jaw is clenched, you tilt your head from side to side to stretch it. She shakes her head slightly at you while she rolls onto her back, kicking her legs into the air stroking them and arching her back. She’s trying desperately to keep up her stage demeanor, her eyes start meeting other audience members’ and winking while she take their money between two blood red nails.

The girl beside you has bent her whole body over the edge of the stage to rake her fingers across Katya’s side. Her nails pull and tear the delicate lace of the bodysuit ripping a hole in it. You can’t help but turn to her again, your fingers snake into her hair at the back of her head. You yank her head backwards, pulling her body off the stage, producing a scream from her. The people around you only give a once over before returning their eyes to the show.

Your face is inches from hers; “I said, respect the lady.” You pull her head all the way back and shove her into the people behind you. You point to her screaming to the people around you: “She’s stealing tips!” The audience pushes her violently to the back of the crowd most of them clawing at her and grabbing at her clothes.

You heave a sigh before turning back to the stage. Katya’s face is an inch away from yours, her lips lower to your ear: “Meet me later.” She pulls back and licks a stripe up the front of your face starting from your chin and ending at your hairline. The audience screams, hands dart out with fistfuls of cash. Your face turns bright red as you blink stupidly. She immediately turns her back to you, focussing on the other side of the cat walk. She’s leaning forward on her hands with her legs spread wide behind her as she snags tips from shaking hands. Her ass is swaying back and forth as she reaches to grab cash from the audience, tossing it back over her shoulder carelessly. She bends back and lies comfortably on the stage, both of her legs sprawled beside her.

Her tongue runs across her bottom lip when she eyes you one last time. She arches her back and travels down the catwalk in a backbend. Planting her feet, she slowly rises to stand straight up again. Her hands are groping her breasts before they snake down the curves of her hips, passing her fingers over her crotch one more time. Her hands travel down her leg and wrap around her ankle, she slowly pulls one leg straight up beside her head.

_A new religion that’ll bring you to your knees_  
_Black velvet if you please_

Her free hand runs through her hair, she yawns and stretches. Still holding her leg in the air she shifts her weight forward and falls into a split that shakes the stage.

_If you please_  
_If you please_  
_If you please_

The roar of the crowd has completely drowned out the music as tips shower the stage. Katya stands gracefully and flashes a pearly smile and waves to the audience, pressing her hands together in front of her chest and folding forward slightly, mouthing ‘Thank you’. Giving the crowd one more wave she slips behind the curtains. Delilah jogs onto the stage to quickly collect the tips off the stage; she looks at you and wags her eyebrows. She disappears behind the curtain to join Katya in the back.

The host comes back to the stage to do curtain call while the crowd dwindles significantly. Within a half hour the place is almost desolate, most of the patrons have crowded around the alley to try and catch the queens on their way out.

You head to the backdoor in the corner of the room and exit into a long hallway, you already know which way to go; your clients invite you to the dressing room all the time. Most of the time they need a touch up when a seam would rip during their performance, you always carry needle and thread with you to the club.

You drum your fingernails on the door; you run your hands down the front of your dress and try to push your hair back into place. Ginger’s face appears as she cracks the door open cautiously. Her face lights up and lets the door swing open. The smell of perfume and hairspray is almost suffocating but she grabs you by the arm and drags you inside before slamming the door shut.

“Some of those creepy fuckers find their way back here sometimes. Can’t be too careful, ya know?” Her arm is linked with yours as she pats your hand.

Most of the girls are snatch-bald and half-naked bent over their mirrors with makeup wipes. You catch a glimpse of Katya while you’re walking with Ginger; she’s standing over her table with half of her face gone; she’s naked except for a pair of tights holding her padding in place. Ginger takes a seat at her station in the back corner of the room and you lean against the wall with your arms crossed.

“Little cliché, don’t you think? Doris Day needs a nap because that bitch is tired.” You snicker, your eyes flicking back to Katya’s station. Your face flushes as you catch her staring at you; she stands up and starts to cross the room. You desperately try to relax and look natural, returning your eyes to watch Ginger de-drag.

Her head swivels dramatically with an eyebrow cocked, “LBD? Little cliché, don’t you think, girl?” She catches your rigid stance and stops herself, “The hell is wrong with you, you havin’ a stroke or somethin’?” She peeks behind her using the mirror and both of her eyebrows rise. “Quick, don’t act like a freak, for god’s sake.” She presses a wipe to her eye and turns to face the mirror.

Katya’s long, thin hand comes down to rest on Ginger’s shoulder, “Yes, Reaper?” She lowers her wipe to peek up at Katya, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“I’m here to collect the remains of your career, Mother.” She croaks in her Maureen voice, her other hand wraps around Ginger’s shoulder when she leans down to her level. “It’s very unbecoming of a lady to not introduce company.” Her pale eyes shuffle between you and Ginger.

“Since when have you ever needed an introduction? They usually run but since she hasn’t yet because she’s stupid just say hello, Christ.” Ginger’s eyes roll as she shakes her head scrubbing a fresh makeup wipe on her lips.

Katya straightens up and takes a few steps toward you. Even without heels she’s quite tall; you tilt your head up to meet her gaze. From the nose up all of her makeup is gone but her red lips are still in perfect shape. She’s smiling showing all of her perfect, white teeth. Her hand is stretched out, long red fingernails catching the light in the dressing room.

You reach out to her and she takes your hand, “I’m Katya, duh. Sans tape you can call me Brian. You can call me anything, actually. Barbara, whore, Katherine, Deborah... Aileen Wuornos.” She lowers her head to kiss your hand. “Have you ever met a woman before, Geoffrey?” You chew your bottom lip as your face goes red; you catch Ginger smirking at you in the mirror.

“Well, I’ve never met a woman like you before.” You let out a breathy laugh trying to act normal but it only came out anxious and awkward; Ginger lets out a snort of laughter at you. Katya lets your hand go and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed that she did. Your hands snap up to cross over your chest, one hand to anxiously toy with your earring.

“Excellent answer, Barbara.” Her blue eyes scan you from head to toe. “We won’t sacrifice you tonight.” She smirks at you before reaching over Ginger to steal one of her makeup wipes. She’s leaning over Ginger while tries to scrub the liner out from under her eyes. “Oh!” She flaps her arms excitedly; Ginger clutches her chest and almost falls out of her chair.

“What in gay hell, Kat’.” She grumbles while glaring up at her.

“You should have seen what she did during my fucking set! Oh, bitch. Oh, _bitch_! She scalped this bitch bald, Deborah.” She’s tapping her hand furiously against Ginger’s shoulder, “She grabbed this girl by the hair and slammed her face into the stage; I was so hard.” She swoons dramatically. Ginger’s head snaps around to give you a worried look.

“I didn’t really do that. There was a girl disrespecting Katya and I put her in her place. I just pulled her hair that’s all.” You shrug and start picking at your red nail polish nervously.

“How come you never do that for me whenever Raven is at me?” Ginger props a hand onto her hip and knits her eyebrows together.

“Because she’s the drag equivalent of the football star in high school that will definitely beat the shit out of you in the student parking lot.” Raven pops her head up from her station to narrow her eyes at you.

“She’s fighting my battles while I’m just fighting a losing a battle against psychotic depression.” She cocks her head to the side and flashes a smile. “But seriously she tore a hole in my shit. I have one gash, I don’t need another.”

“Y/N can fix that for you, she’s a seamstress.” Ginger pipes up, winking at you in the mirror. You turn red again and chew the inside of your cheek.

“What a coincidence, you’re into needle play, too?” Her pale eyes meet yours again, “Would you, Mom? I’d be willing to pay any price.” Her lips stay parted while she presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

Your mouth is dry so you just nod quickly with a smile. Her eyes stay fixed on you; you drop your eyes to the floor and wring your hands. Clearing your throat you speak up, your voice is gravelly: “I’d just need to take it home for a night and it’ll be good as new.”

“Sounds like my Friday night, am I right ladies?” Her hand taps against Ginger’s shoulder, Raven and Morgan are sitting at the two stations beside you, they snicker to themselves. “Well, she needs to go now.” She waves her red nails in front of her face. “Pleasure.” Her eyes travel from your shoes all the way up to your face, her lips part to offer a brilliant smile. Her hand squeezes Ginger’s shoulder before she turns and sashays back to her station.

Ginger looks up at you, all of her makeup was gone, she had turned back to ‘he’. “Girl, you got yourself into something now.” Josh shook his head while smearing moisturizer on his face.

You straighten up and take a few steps towards him; you bend over and wrap your arm around his shoulder. “It’s late, I should really get going; I have a gash to fix.” You flash him a smile in the mirror and press your cheek into his. “Where are you off to next?”

“I’ll be at Blazing Saddles tomorrow night. Come in the back exit.” He smirks at his own joke; you only roll your eyes at him. “I’m not going to be there alone, though.” He throws a look over his shoulder at Katya who was now prancing around the dressing room wearing Adore’s long, blue wig. You giggle at her and stand up; you pat Josh’s shoulder starting to walk away.

On your way out Morgan leans over to slap your ass and cat calls you. Raven waves with a smile: “Micky’s Monday”, Morgan nods enthusiastically over Raven’s shoulder. Adore runs over to pull you into a tight hug: “I’ll see you again, sis.” The local queens shout a goodbye to you in unison. Katya, who had fully transformed back into Brian, wiggled his fingers at you. Your face flushes again and you toss your hand up at him awkwardly. The door shuts tight behind you.

You start strolling down the hallway, your heels clicking on the cold cement. Your echoing footsteps were suddenly joined by a quick patter. You turn your head to see that Brian is right behind you smiling. He’s barefoot wearing a pair of black panties, it’s painfully obvious that he’s untucked and you feel your face heat again. He has his bodysuit in his hand. He leans against one side of the narrow hallway; you mimic him and press your back into the concrete wall across from him.

“We meet again, Barbara.” He reaches his arm out, you take the bodysuit and your fingers brush against each other. “She needs a smoke after being fucked like that.” He’s smiling at you again, crossing his arms over his chest.

You laugh his quip and clear your throat before continuing, “I can text you when it’s fixed, maybe?”

“No need, Ging’ already passed your number to me on the back of a Twinkie wrapper.” He waves his hand dismissively, long red nails glistening in the light above the two of you. The fluorescents carve out his features, his high cheekbones highlighted and the hollows of his cheeks becoming cast in shadow, his icy, blue eyes are burning into yours. “But seriously, thank you for tonight, Y/N.”

You chewed your bottom lip dropping your gaze to his bare feet; his toenails were painted a hot pink. “I should probably go, it’s getting late.” His hand darts into your line of site and you look back up to see an empty pack of cigarettes in his grasp. His number is scrawled across the front of it in red Sharpie. You smile and take it from his hand. You point down the hallway and start to side shuffle away from him.

“Stay close to the candles. The stairway can be treacherous, Brenda.” He croaks as you walk towards the door that leads to the dance floor. You throw one last look over your shoulder at him but he’s already walking away from you.

After a half hour of saying goodbye to Delilah and Rob you take an Uber back home. Once you get the door of your apartment open you head to your bedroom and throw your phone onto your bed. You wash off your makeup and strip naked. The light from your phone cuts through the dark as you climb under the covers. There’s a text notification flashing on the screen. You lean over to the bedside table and check the number on the cigarette pack: it matches the unknown number. You quickly add his number to your list of contacts.

_‘Hello, Mother. Ginger mentioned that you’re coming to the show tomorrow.’_

“Fucking Ginger,” you grumble.

_‘I hope you’re not sizing me up to steal my organs. I’m just warning you now that they would be much use, I’m almost fifty.’_

_‘Yes, I’m following you around now. We’re coming for you, Barbara.’_

_‘I knew there was a reason why I like you... I’ll see you tomorrow night, Deborah.’_ You can’t help but giggle and throw your hand over your face while you blush uncontrollably. You plug your phone in to charge and lay it on the night stand. Rolling over you close your eyes and start to drift off. Your dreams are filled with those plump, red lips and pale, blue eyes.


	2. The Same Parts

It’s eleven in the morning when you finally wake up. Stretching, you slap your hand down on the nightstand and grope to find your phone. You bring your phone up to your face and blink a few times to clear your vision. A new message from Ginger is flashing across the screen.

_‘You owe me one.’_

_‘Yes, all hail the Minj.’_ You roll your eyes to yourself while you reply.

_‘I think she actually likes you, which is hard to believe because you’re pretty unbearable. She’s been acting a little strange and that’s saying something.’_

_‘What? What was she saying?’_ You hold your breath waiting for her to reply, your mind racing a little faster than you’re comfortable with.

_‘Nothing, that’s the scary part, she was just in dreamland all night after running after you. I know this bitch well and I ain’t never seen her like that. Everyone noticed. Everyone.’_

_‘Weird.’_ Was all you could think of to reply, you consider that maybe she likes you back but shake your head immediately, you’re looking into things harder than you should be. After all, Katya did have the tendency to be unorthodox.

You pull a ratty four XL shirt from your dresser and slide it on, not bothering to put on pants this early in the morning. You shuffle out to the kitchen while rubbing your eyes. You put on a pot of coffee and lean against the island; your head resting lazily on your upturned palm. The coffeemaker gurgles diligently in the background.

Katya’s bodysuit is draped over one of the chairs on the opposite side of the island. You balance on your tiptoes and reach over the counter to snag it from the back of the chair. You stretch it out and turn it trying to find the damage, there’s a hole that’s a foot long across the fabric before stretching it. There’s a few remaining threads reaching across the gap trying feebly to hold the edges together.

You sigh heavily and shake your head. This would prove to be quite a task considering that there are intricate, embroidered swirls in the lace. You squint to try to figure out the pattern on the leotard. You notice the smell of perfume and stale cigarettes on the garment and smile to yourself. She smells exactly as you imagine she would: pretty and disgusting.

Pouring yourself a cup you pad to the spare bedroom where the walls are lined floor to ceiling with storage compartments and fabrics. In the corner your new sewing machine is perched on a long table, a cutting mat laid out beside it. You pull a spool of black thread and a needle out from one of the organizers and take a seat at your work desk. It took you a little over two hours and three cups of coffee to stitch up the hole and embroider it to make the repair look seamless. You stretch the fabric and the patch proves to stay put.

You shoot a text off to Katya: _‘She made it through the surgery, Barbara.’_

_‘I’m in dept to you. You must have talented fingers... Do you take blowjobs as currency?’_

_‘For you it’s free.’_

_‘What a coincidence, my blowjobs are free, too!’_

You laugh out loud and turn back to your machine. The great thing about working for drag queens is most of them want basic cat suits or leotards with embellishments. Including stopping for food breaks you finish five bodysuits before you have to start getting ready for the club.

With some difficulty you pry yourself from the chair and arch your back to try to alleviate some of the stiffness. You’ve been in your nightshirt all day and can’t help but feel a little ashamed. You shower and style your hair before starting in on your makeup. You choose a darker night look, smoking out your eyes and pairing it with a dark red lipstick.

Standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom you take a while to decide on an outfit for the night. Almost all of your clothing you made yourself which tends to bring in more clients when they ask you where you got it from. You settle on a high-collared, black shirt with a large panel cut out to expose your cleavage and long billowy sleeves. A tight skirt with a slit up the side is pulling over the curves of your hips; the colour matches your lipstick. You slid your feet into a pair of studded, black four inch heels.

It doesn’t take long for you to arrive at Blazing Saddles; there’s already a line of people forming down the block even though the doors don’t open for another two hours. Katya, being one of the most popular crownless queens, always brings in a crowd everywhere she goes. Cutting through the line you head down the alley to the back door. You knock loudly on the steel door and a large security guard emerges.

“Hi, I’m here for Ginger Minj.” You pull your ID out of your purse and give it to him. He studies it for a moment too long and panic squeezes around your heart. His eyes flick up to your face and he nods laying your ID back into your hand.

“Last door on the left.” He steps to the side and holds the door open for you; you dip your head shyly and sneak past him uttering a quiet thank you.

At the end of the long hallway there’s a pink door with a piece of paper taped to the door: ‘Ru Girls’ is scribbled messily on it in pink Sharpie. You tap your knuckles on the door while turning the handle and it opens. Taking a few steps into the room you stumble back into the hallway and slam the door. Brian has his back turned to you and he’s bent over pressing pink tuck tape between his legs, the muscles in his legs are flexing as he stretches and squirms trying to get his tuck right. His tight rear is facing you and you catch a glimpse of the dimples imprinted just above the curve of his ass.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You call from the other side of the door; your face is beet-red as you slap your hand to your eyes.

You hear him gasp and there are some quick footsteps before he says in his Maureen voice: “I hate for you to find out this way that I’m not a woman, Mother.”

“Jesus, Kat’ you’ve scarred her for life now. It was only a matter of time.” Ginger’s voice sounds from a distance.

The door swings back open again; you peek out at him from between your fingers. He’s wearing a black bra and a matching thong, his face is free of makeup but there’s a blunt cut blonde wig on his head that’s hair sprayed into sharp, messy points with uneven bangs, there’s a cigarette clipped off to one side. He rakes his eyes over your figure while chewing his bottom lip before he looks into your eyes. He flashes his pearly whites at you and steps to the side to let you enter.

“That’ll cost ya thirty-five dollars, cunt.” He chirps as he shuts the door behind you. You laugh nervously, your face still red. The small room only has four stations in it, clearly a quiet night; Ginger and Katya were the only two Drag Racers booked. The local queens are situated in another dressing room down the hall. Ginger swivels in her chair and smiles at you; there’s a powder compact and a brush in her hands; her face is almost done apart from lashes and lipstick. She has a corset cinched around her waist and pantyhose wrapped around her head.

“The strip club is down the street, girl.” She flicks her eyes over your outfit and turns back to her mirror setting her powder to the side and starts applying glue to her false lashes. Her mouth is making an ‘o’ shape as she pressed the lash into place, “We’re supposed to be the ones being gawked at tonight, not you, attention whore.”

You prop your hands onto your hips and tilt you head to the side, “You’re one to talk, slut.” You point to the hanger on a bar screwed into the wall; there’s a white leather jacket with white lace leggings hanging on it, you recognize it from her season seven leather and lace runway. “Jesus, that outfit’s an artifact at this point why do you still have it, it should be in a museum.” You hear Brian snort from his station on the other side of the room.

“These things happen when you don’t win All Stars.” Brian calls, you look over at him, he’s got unblended contouring smeared on his face. He’s busy scrubbing a beauty blender into his cheeks and slowly turning into Katya. She’s totally focussed on the mirror.

Ginger’s glare rests on the back of Katya’s head and she drums her silver nails on the counter. Feeling her gaze she flicks her eyes over to look at Ginger through her mirror and flashed a sweet smile. She turns back and gives you an exasperated at you; she throws a hand back in Katya’s direction.

“Well, look at you, Gia Gunn! Unfortunately, she does have a point.” You cross your arms and take a seat at the station right beside hers.

Ginger whips her head around in panic to stare into the mirror to check for a crooked eyelash. Of course her lashes are perfectly straight and you laugh out loud at her. “You are such a bitch, I’m calling security.” She grumbles, her Floridian accent coming out strong. You wait patiently and watch diligently as the girls get into drag. Ginger is always so picky about her lip liner and has to smudge it off at least four times before finding something that she could live with.

Ginger pulls on her outfit and a tall, black wig that’s curled into a pompadour. She ran her hands over the leather to smooth it out popping her collar. You smile up at her from your chair, “Not bad for coming off the rack at Forever 21.”

Suddenly, long, cool hands snake around your shoulders, Katya leans her face down beside yours; you can smell her perfume again. Your body goes stiff, her fingers slide down to rest on your arms, “She’s right, Ging’ looks good...exactly what I expect from you.” Her hands massage you slightly and you let out an unsteady breath.

“Y’all are getting too close for my comfort, I need an adult.” She raises an eyebrow her eyes are glued to yours. Her hand reaches out to yours and you take it, she lifts you up out of the chair. Katya stands again and plants a hand on her hip, shifting her weight onto one six inch stiletto. “It’s almost show time anyway, y’all can catch up later.” She winks at you.

Clearing your throat you turn and face Katya, she looks stunning and you have to stare for a second. Her thin body is cinched and padded perfectly, she’s wearing thigh-high, black, leather boots and a strapless, black bodysuit, the leg holes are cut up to the very top of her hips. Her eyes are smoked all the way up to her eyebrows, her signature red lips are pouting at you.

“I, uh...I have your, uh.” You pull her lacy bodysuit out of your purse, it’s folded neatly and you spare her one quick look before darting your eyes away.

She snatches it out of your hands and shakes it out of its folding. Her eyes scan the side that was damaged and her eyebrows rise in astonishment, “Okay, unbuckle then.” She falls to her knees and grabs your hips trying to pull your crotch to her face. You giggle and clap your hands over your cheeks trying desperately to hide your red face.

Ginger ignores the scene that the two of you are causing in front of her; she cocks her head with a shrug, “I told you, she’s good.” Her heels click against the floor as she heads to the door.

You look down at Katya; her blue eyes are staring up at you and she runs her tongue over her teeth, teasing you. When she eventually stands up again she towers over you in her heels. She stands there expectantly before motioning for you to go ahead of her. Ginger is holding the door for you both with an unimpressed look. As you walk past her she gives your ass a light tap.

You make your way to the dance floor through the backstage; you manage to get to the front row with a drink just as a rush of people storm into the club. The back of the stage is a solid wall painted purple, there are two openings on either side covered with black, sequined curtains. As per usual, local talent came first and a lot of the queens recognize you. Halfway through the show Ginger is announced and the crowd gives a deafening cheer. She struts to centre stage and performs “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar. You wave your ten dollar bill up at her and she snags the bill from you; she slides the tip between her tits while blowing a kiss at you. The crowd screams and more tips pop up around the stage, she travels along the edge to take the bills from eager hands.

More locals come up next, you can’t help but be a little bored by them, you pretend to be enthused; every single one of them performe the same number that you’ve seen for the last four weeks at your regular club on Wednesday nights. You still tip and wave hello to your regular clients.

The DJ’s voice sounds over the speakers to announce the final act: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage your friendly, neighbourhood, Russian whore: Katya!” The music starts and the audience screams at the familiar song: it’s “The Same Parts” by Tatianna. Even though it is one of Katya’s staple performances it never got old.

She sashays slowly across the stage; her hands are caressing her curves as she turns to face the audience bumping her hips back and forth to the beat of the song. She takes a few steps to the front of the stage and crouches down in front of you. She starts lipsyncing directly to you.

_People at the party and I’m wanting to dance_   
_Other ugly ass bitches_   
_Ain’t standin’ no chance_

Her hand reaches to touch your face but before her hand touches you she stands back up and turns on her heels. She prances back and forth along the stage pulling tips out of outstretched hands.

She travels to the back of the stage and turns her back to the crowd. She plants her hands on the floor and slowly pulls her legs up so she’s in a handstand against the back wall. Her legs bend and butterfly to the sides, she runs her tongue over her bottom lip. She lets her legs fall straight out to either side in a full split; even upside down her lipsync is tight.

_His back on the wall_   
_My ass on his-_   
_Grindin’ for a second_   
_Gri- Grindin’ for a second_

She gracefully lowers herself down from the wall and starts crawling on her hands and knees. Her hips are swaying in an exaggerated way running her tongue across her lips as she sweeps her gaze across every face in the front row, taking tips and throwing them over her shoulder. You have a twenty sandwiched between your pointer and middle finger as she’s crawling across the stage.

When she finally reaches you she stops and leans forward, her teeth pull the tip from your hand. She opens her mouth and drops the bill onto the stage. Leaning in again she closes her lips around your fingers and sucks your digits slowly. The heat in your stomach flares and your mouth hangs open as you watch her. The crowd screams and stares at the two of you. She runs her tongue between your fingers as she backs away.

She’s up on her feet again stomping across the stage her hands are running through her hair and rubbing against her crotch. She takes a step forward and slowly lowers herself into a split while she continues to touch herself. Once she reaches the floor she bounces and grinds her groin into the stage. She rolls onto her front and is back on her hands and knees again. She’s approaching you again and her eyes are burning into yours.

She sits back on her heels and runs a red nail across your jaw. Her lips enunciating every syllable and there’s a smirk on her face. Her fingers wrap around your wrists and she pulls your hands up to cup her breasts, she rolls her eyes back and drops her jaw feigning ecstasy. She’s moving your hands for you to make you caress her body. Your hands travel over her hips and she guides your hand to her groin.

Katya is absolutely irresistible and you feel the coil in your core become unbearably tight. She drops one of your wrists and pushes her fingers up into her hair while she rolls her crotch against the one hand that she’s holding onto. She raises your hand up to her lips and kisses your hand leaving a perfect, red lip print. She leaves you there while the people around you stare at you for a second, a lot of them seeming envious.

When she finally reaches the other end of the stage she rises back up onto her stilettos. As the final breakdown comes she licks her hand and pats it to each breast. She takes a running start and does a cartwheel before landing in a split, the stage shakes and the crowd drowns out Tatianna’s voice. The song fades out and she’s back on her feet and waving to the crowd before exiting the stage. The people around you are eyeing you again and you give a meek smile before snaking your way through the crowd.

Once you close the backstage door behind you, you take a minute to yourself. Katya has you so hot and bothered and you press your hand to your face gently, trying not to smudge your makeup. The things Ginger texted to you this morning are running through your head. What if she did have feelings for you? On the other hand, Katya’s performances always ooze sexual energy. You push away the hope of any kind of a relationship. Could you ever have a relationship with her? You heart jumps at the thought and you curse yourself for letting yourself become so involved.

Ginger comes around the corner and approaches you quickly while throwing her hands up in the air. “I saw that! What in gay hell was that?”

You don’t know what to say and your mouth hangs open stupidly. “Well I didn’t do anything, maybe you should ask her?”

She takes a step back with her hands up in front of her chest defensively, “I ain’t askin’ her shit, that’s something for you two to figure out. I’m just warning you that people are starting to really notice you two: two nights in a row where Katya is basically fucking one person on stage instead of everyone? It looks suspicious.” She raises her eyebrows at you expectantly, when you don’t answer right away she continues, “I’m going to go de-drag with the local girls, you two need some time alone.”

She’s clicking down the hallway before you can say anything more, she ducks into one of the rooms and you’re alone again. You swallow the lump in your throat and start to walk to the end of the hallway; you stop in front of the pink door. Your hand reaches out and wraps around the cold steel of the handle and turns it.

You pop your head into the room; Katya is taking off her jewellery in the mirror oblivious to your presence. You sneak into the room and intentionally shut the door loudly behind you. She turns her head to look at you with a wide smile, “So, what did you think of the show? Mother always said that I was special.” She’s holding one large earring between her fingers and swinging it back and forth.

“It was good...um” You start walking towards her wringing your hands nervously. You’re not really sure what to say or how to even start. Her eyes are watching you intently and you stop a few feet away from you.

Her perfectly drawn brows pull together worriedly; she turns in her chair to fully face you. “Did I cross a line? I’m sorry, I-”

“No.” You blurt out quickly, “I really liked it,” Your hand shot up to play with your earring: a nervous habit of yours. “I just hear that people are starting to talk and question...us.” You’re hesitant to use that word because it feels so loaded.

She places the rest of her jewellery down on the table and stands in front of you. Her heels make you tilt your head up to meet her eyes. The light bulbs lining the mirror are setting her blonde wig on fire; one side of her face is cast in shadow. Her full lips part for a second then proceeds cautiously, “I’m an addict; I will always be incredibly impulsive, Y/N. I apologize for that.”

“I wanted it, Katya.” You softly say and brush your hand against hers. Her fingers reach out and wrap around the back of your neck, her other hand comes to rest on the small of your back as she leans down and presses her lips to yours. Your hands frame her face and you pull her in closer. Your lips part to deepen the kiss; her tongue explores your mouth as her lipstick blends with yours. You smell her perfume and taste nicotine in your mouth, you sigh dreamily.

The handle on the door clicks and you bolt away from each other. Josh is standing there in heels and a tank top, his costume is draped over one arm. “Girl, I am never staying with those bitches again: ‘You make me proud to be fat’” He mocks with a high-pitched voice, “Ugh, I just can’t-” His eyes dart between the two of you. “What’s going on in here?” Katya is back in her chair coolly removing her wig from her head and plucking off her eyelashes. You, on the other hand, are standing there stiffly with your lipstick smudged down to your chin. “Well, finally! Now that that’s over with.” He huffs and continues to his station to start packing up his makeup and outfit.

“I’ll never tell, Father.” Katya says breathily, while scrubbing her eye with makeup remover. You quickly run your fingers around your mouth to try and fix your lips.

Josh catches you in the mirror, “She’s long gone, honey.” He chuckles at you. “Do you need a wipe?”

“No, I’m okay.” You reply meekly. He’s walking towards the front door with a rolling suitcase behind him. You try to get to him as quickly as possible in your heels; you wrap your arm around his neck and squeeze your body into his.

He whispers into your ear, “If you need anything just text, okay, girl?” He leans to the side: “If I never see you again it would be too soon, whore!” He calls over your shoulder at Katya. He gives you a small smile before leaving you two alone again.

You turn and walk back to Brian; he is nearly out of drag now, all of his makeup is gone. He turns his back to you, “Would you, Mom?” You reach up and grab the hidden zipper and pull it down his back; the fabric parts and you see the taut muscles in his back dance under his ivory skin as he pulls the bodysuit off of himself. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and feel the heat in your core spark again. He’s wearing pantyhose over his padding but you can still see the dimples above his ass.

He turns around, he’s naked except for a black bra and a matching thong. He’s smiling at you again, “One more thing” he lean down, his face is inches from yours. He takes a twenty and shoves it down between your tits, “I told you this crocheted pussy is free.” He growls in his Russian accent. He turns around and starts putting his makeup into its cases. He opens his suitcase and pulls out a grey t-shirt, sliding it over his head.

You speak up while he’s pull on a pair of jeans, “If you want, I can maybe make you an outfit that isn’t a black bodysuit; just to change it up.” You smirk at him when he turns his head, his eyes are narrowed.

“I didn’t hear you complaining during the show, ya cunt.” He snaps the locks on his suitcase. “And you’re one to talk, Miss Dark and Brooding.” His red nails flicking passively at your outfit.

“Never had any objections from you, either.” You reach up and readjust your tits in your shirt, you watch as he stares at your cleavage. “Freak.” You sniff.

“You’re just figuring this out now? She’s slipping, Doctor.” He says in his Maureen voice. “If you’re going to twist my tits about it, I’d love for you to save me from my so-called mundane wardrobe that you definitely hate.”

You grab the handle of his suitcase and pull it beside you with a smile “There’s that team spirit, did you have a day in mind?”

“I’m actually off tomorrow, but I have to ask my mom if I can go.” You snicker at him while you both walk to the door.

You drag his suitcase behind you, the alley is empty; all of the fans have given up and gone home. It is considerably late and chilly outside so you can understand why. You wait for him to get into his Uber.

“I’ll text you my address, call me when you’re on your way over.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you look into his blue eyes; he flashes his pearly whites at you.

“You shouldn’t give your address to a stranger, who knows I could be a serial killer and string you up in my basement by your intestines.” He winks at you while hopping in the back seat.

“Sounds kinky, you’ll have to show me sometime.” You bite your lip. He makes a move to get out of the car but stops himself. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

It doesn’t take you long to get back home when you call your own Uber. Your feet are sore and you’re dead tired after two late nights in a row. While you’re getting ready for bed your phone goes off: it’s Ginger.

_‘So? Are you at home? Alone?’_

_‘Of course I am, you whore.’_

_‘I’m just checking, you two were pretty close tonight. I usually don’t read comments on Twitter but people are asking me about you. A lot of people. They’re trying to Nancy Drew their way through this, asking any drag queen that’s even remotely close to Kat.’_

_‘I don’t know if she wants it to go anywhere...like, I really like her.’_ You sigh and immediately regret confessing your feelings to Ginger.

_‘I know you get crazy clingy but make sure you take a step back. She’s never been in a long-term relationship, girl. BUT, she does seem to be acting differently with you. Usually she’s a hump and dump but she’s asking about you. I’m actually texting her right now.’_

Your heart jumps into your throat: _‘What?’_

_‘She’s asking if you have a partner right now, I think I’ll just tell her that you’re not interested...’_

_‘You’re such an asshole; this is why you don’t get booked.’_

_‘I get booked plenty, hateful bitch. I’m only going to tell her basics, if she wants detail she’ll have to go through you. I’m not doing this whole “My friend says that she thinks you’re cute” high school bullshit.’_

_‘Great, I hope you have a lovely night under your bridge, goodnight._ ’

A text comes in from Katya next:

_‘Good evening, Clarice.’_

_‘Doctor Lecter, what can I do for you?’_

_‘I appreciate that you understood that reference. I just to tell you that I had a really good time tonight and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow and this is not a joke.’_

_‘I had fun, too. I love Jodie Foster! How could I not know Silence of the Lambs?!’_

_‘I think I love you.’_ Your heart beat races and your face flushes when you read the text. _‘I love sleep, too. So I’m going to go now. P.S. Senator, love the suit.’_

_‘Goodnight, my Russian whore.’_

You text him your address before plugging in your phone; you roll onto your side and squeeze your pillow tight. You have butterflies in your stomach but that heat is coiled in your stomach along with them. You feel like it would be wrong to fantasize about Katya even though you reall want to. You ignore the urge to touch yourself and fall asleep with some difficulty.

_Her red nails reach out and dig into your throat, her face is inches from yours. Her tongue runs over her teeth as she smiles. She leans in and places her mouth right beside your ear, her bottom lip brushing against your earlobe as she whispers, “Teper’ ty moy.” She pulls back only to smash her mouth into yours, her tongue pushing forcefully into your mouth and she’s moaning loudly as she squeezes your neck tighter. “Teper’ ty prinadlezhish’ mne, Y/N.”_


	3. I Think We're Alone Now

You bolt upright out of your bed gasping for air, flicking your eyes across the room to make sure no one’s there. Embarrassment washes over you; you were moaning so loudly that it jerked you from your dream. You touch your hand to your forehead and look down at your fingers: you’re drenched in sweat. That heat in your core is still burning even after sleeping for...you look over at your alarm clock: a solid eight hours. You blow out an exasperated sigh and push the covers off of yourself.

Your phone starts buzzing loudly on the table and you nearly fall off the edge of the bed. You reach over and grab it: it’s Katya. You answer and press it to your ear while it’s still vibrating.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Deborah calling from the Satanist department of ChristianMingle, do you have time to talk about our lord and saviour Kellyanne Conway?” He pipes up cheerfully in a soft, feminine voice.

You giggle at him, “Hi, Kat’. Are you on your way already?”

“I figured I would give you a half hour heads up, your house probably looks like one of those dream homes on Hoarders” You hear him sigh dreamily on the other end.

“Well I appreciate the thought but fuck you.” Your voice is playful and you’re smiling like an idiot, hanging on his every word.

“Ha-ha, you said ‘butt fuck’.” He chimes at you; you snicker at him while pulling yourself off the bed with a grunt. “Are you moaning at me? Is this phone sex? It’s going to cost you.”

Your face flushes bright red and a lump lodges in the back of your throat thinking about your dreams. “No.” You try to say coolly but fail miserably. “Listen, Brenda, I need to drag this body out to the curb in time for the garbage trucks, okay? I have to go, he’s starting to smell.”

“So first you turn down phone sex and now you’re cheating on me? That’s real low.”

You start pulling your sweaty sheets off of your bed with your phone sandwiched between your ear and shoulder, “That’s just how I roll, you’re going to have to start impressing me before I settle down. I’m quite the player.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” He mutters, you don’t quite catch what he said.

“What?”

“What? Okay, bye, Barbara. I’ll be there in a half hour.” The line goes dead before you can say anything else. You pull the phone away from your ear and look at the black screen. Setting your phone on the dresser you lug your sheets to your washing machine, you fill it the rest of the way with dirty clothes littering your bedroom floor and then peel off your shirt and underwear.

You rip through your house to make it somewhat presentable; thankfully you keep your sewing room in great shape so you leave it as it is. You quickly shower and brush your teeth three times: you were always self-conscious about your breath when standing close to clients as you took their measurements. You clean your skin with a touch of makeup and toy with your hair. You’re pulling on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of black jeans when a loud buzz comes from the intercom.

You press the button to speak: “Yes?”

His voice crackles over the speaker: “I’m coming for you, Barbara.”

You smile widely and open the door for him. Rushing to the bathroom you take one last look in the mirror and fluff your hair again. There are footsteps coming down the hallway before his fingernails are drumming rhythmically against the door. You turn the handle and give a sweet smile. He’s dressed in a pink Trixie Mattel t-shirt with biking shorts.

“That was quick, I’m glad you found parking for your broom.”

“Yeah I parked it beside your dad’s truck, did you know he has a vanity plate that says ‘Small Dick’?” He slides past you, the smell of fresh cigarette smoke wafts into your face and it makes you crave one; you had given up the habit quite some time ago but addiction never truly goes away. You shut the door again. He peeks around at your apartment while sliding his shoes off and pushing them with his foot to sit next to yours. “No stench of cat piss? You look like a cat lady to me, I was half-expecting it to smell like Boston in here but you let me down.”

“I’ll try harder next time, I promise.” You roll your eyes and step past him to head to the refrigerator. “Red Bull?”

He throws a hand over his heart and bats his eyes at you, “A woman after my own heart.” He sits on the other side of the island and leans forward with his arms crossed on the counter.

You reach across the counter and hand the can over to him, your fingers touch his and you feel your heart pinch. “Ew, look at your cross dressing hands.” You grab his hand to look closer; his cool, pale fingers have long, oval-tipped red nails at the end of them.

“They’re gel and they were very expensive, thank you very much.” His fingers tighten around your hand and the all too familiar lump rises in your throat again. He’s staring at you, smiling wide to show all of his perfect, straight teeth, his blue eyes burning. You take your hand back and pop the tab on your Red Bull.

“Doesn’t look like it.” You quip with a sweet smile. He pulls an unimpressed face at you. “Did you want to get started?”

“Absolutely” he drones in a Gia Gunn impersonation. He stands again and follows you to your spare bedroom. His mouth drops open as he stares at the room, “Jesus Christ, Y/N, it’s a drag queen’s wet dream in here; speaking of which...” He pulls at the crotch of his shorts playfully and you giggle at him. His pale eyes watch you intently as you putter around the room to collect your things.

“Let’s go out into the living room, there’s better light.” You brush past him with an arm full of supplies. He pads behind you and stands there awkwardly in the middle of the room while you lay everything out on the table. You grab his shoulders and guide him to stand in front of you with the patio doors behind you. The bright sunlight illuminates his striking features making his high cheekbones stand out. You chew your bottom lip before pulling your measuring tape off the coffee table. His eyes follow your every move.

You tilt your head up with a strained smile and unroll the tape. You stretch the tape from his armpit to his wrist and write down the measurement on a pink Post-It. You take his shoulder length and make a note. You wrap your arms around him to pull the tape around his chest; you smell his cologne trying to cover up his feminine perfume. You hear him sigh and you snap out of your stupor.

“What?” You flick your gaze up to him.

“You smell like my dad...” He whispers seductively, “He’s been dead for six years.”

You slap his shoulder playfully and laugh out loud. “You’re such an asshole, this is serious business!” You keep smiling as you wrap your arms around his waist and take down the measurement. You move down to his hips and grumble: “This would have been way easier if you had padded, you know.”

“Am I not curvaceous enough for you already, Linda?” His Maureen voice makes an appearance, his hands grope his breasts. You roll your eyes but on the inside you can’t help but be bothered; your dreams have fanned the sexual curiosity in you. It frustrates you to no end and your thoughts wander off again to wonder if he feels the same about you. He snaps his fingers in front of your face and you jump, “My eyes are up here, perv.” You zoned for a considerable amount of time and you force a smile.

“I was just entranced by your beauty, Barbara.”

“I get that a lot.” He sniffs and returns to standing still again. You’ve come to the part that you dreaded to perform on him. You lower yourself to your knees and his eyebrows rise; you desperately try to keep your eyes off of his face. You hold one end of the tape measure to the ground and slowly slide the other end up the inside of his leg to press it lightly into his crotch.

You quickly stand back up and avert your eyes and scribble your notes. When you finally do meet his eyes again his face is strained and he’s biting his bottom lip.

“So wha-” Your voice is hoarse and you stop to clear it before beginning again, “So what were you looking for?” you pause and quickly add: “Outfit wise, I mean.”

“What else could you be talking about besides the outfit?” His voice is gravelly, too.

You curse yourself for saying stupid shit when you get nervous and feel your face heat up. “Nothing. I was brainstorming last night,” ‘Or something like that’ you thought to yourself. “Maybe something like this?” You motion for him to take a seat on the couch and sit beside him. You lean over the coffee table and start scribbling out a quick design, he scoots closer to you until his thigh is touching yours; your heart squeezes tight.

You slide the drawing over to him: it’s a high-collared, skin-tight dress with long sleeves, and the skirt reaches down to the floor. In the front here’s a large, upside down triangle cut-out that you fondly refer to as a ‘Boob Window’. His face lights up and he jumps off the couch, he leans over you and gives you a tight hug. Before you can return the hug he’s back up and stomping his feet on the floor like an excited toddler.

“I love it! Very chic...can we make it ugly? I was thinking maybe like a problem pattern or patchwork?” His eyes are twinkling and you can’t help but snort laughter while standing up again.

“Of course.” He’s got the paper clutched tightly in his hands and shakes it up and down at your reply. You lead him to your sewing room to get a large bolt of smocking fabric. You motion with your hand to the drawers and stacks of fabrics that lined the walls. He darts around like a hummingbird to peek into containers; carefully pulling out different textiles and setting them on your sewing table.

All of the chosen materials are ones that you hawked from bargain bins and garage sales that you never thought you would use. You’re grateful that they would be out of your house but scared that your name would be on this monstrosity of a garment. While he’s digging noisily through bins of knick-knacks you make your pattern. It’s a relatively simple design that you just have to tweak to make it a little different from the regular cocktail dresses that many of your clients request.

You focus intensely on your work as you cut your fabric; Brian is out in the kitchen snagging another Red Bull from your fridge. You hear the patio door shut as he pops out for a smoke break. After some time you pull your work off of the table and shake it out, it looks perfect for him. With the fabric draped over your arm and a box full of pins you pad out to the living room. Brian’s back is turned as he leans on the railing, the hem of his shorts are riding up his ass as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

You chew the inside of your cheek as you wait patiently; he stubs his cigarette out on the railing and flicks the butt off the patio. He turns to face you blowing out his last drag with a smile. The door slides open and shut as he enters the living room. “Maybe I was wrong; I’m not the serial killer. You must be, what, with you creeping on me and all.” He hisses like Hannibal Lecter and you can’t help but break out into a loud, unfiltered laughing fit. When you finally come out of it gasping for breath, you take a steady inhale and stand up straight again. “I like your laugh...it reminds me of Jinkx.”

You slap your hand across your chest and feign astonishment, “I laugh like a winner? Thank you! It’s more than I can say for you.”

His mouth drops open in disbelief, “You are such a cunt, Brenda!”

You’re still giggling as you hold up the smocking. He claps his hands and flashes his pearly smile. You start to drape the fabric over top of him. “Now don’t move or I’ll prick you.”

“Sounds kinky. I’ve always liked a nice prick.” He runs his tongue over his teeth and wags his eyebrow at you. You laugh as you slowly start to pin the edges together around his curves, you stop for a second and fix your eyes on the floor.

“It’s actually best if you don’t wear a baggy shirt, the dress will fix better. I have a spandex top that I use with my other clients. I’ll just-” He immediately pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it to the couch. The sunlight makes the ivory skin on his chest even paler, his lean muscles are pulling across his chest and his toned stomach is moving smoothly with his breath. You admire his collarbones that jut out sharply below his long, slender neck. Your eyes trail up to his square jaw and his plump lips are parted slightly; his chin is tilted down to meet your eyes.

You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth as you put the fabric on him again. You mouth is full of pins as you slowly pull the fabric tight to his hips.

“You must have a really sharp tongue.” He jests and you try to smile around the pins in your mouth. You’re on your knees again pulling the last few out of your mouth. You push the last one into the fabric and your hand slips. The point jabs right into your index finger and you hiss.

“Fucking fuck.” You stand up again; the pin went significantly deep into the pad of your finger and is stinging like crazy. You stare at it with your brows knit together as blood immediately pools on the surface.

Brian’s hand slowly reaches out to you and takes a hold of your wrist, “Let me,” he whispers and pulls your hand closer to him. He raises your hand to his mouth and kisses your pointer finger. You go to pull away but you stop dead in your tracks: his lips close around the tip of your finger and he starts gently sucking at the wound. Your mouth is agape and your head is swimming as you watch him. You feel his tongue lap at your finger and he closes his eyes. His teeth close around your pad as he sucks harder trying to pull more blood from you. His tongue swirls around the tip of your finger and he sighs heavily through his nose. His lips slide down your finger to the knuckle he suckles gently as he pulls your finger out of his mouth.

You feel the blood start to rush to your groin as that white heat burns in the pit of your stomach. Your breath is coming out in jagged hitches, your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip. His piercing, blue eyes are heavily lidded with lust when he opens them again. “Ty prekrasna, ty znayesh’.”

He moves to put his arm around the small of your back and the trail of pins on his arm stick into your skin and you yelp. He jumps back and puts his hands up in front of you to apologize. “Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry!” Your hand reaches around under your shirt to check for blood, luckily, or maybe unluckily, for you there was none.

“It’s fine, babe.” The word slips out of your mouth and you panic, “I mean, it’s fine. I’m not bleeding.” You stiffly walk around to his back and gently work the dress off of him by the opening in the back where the zipper is going to be. You pull the dress down his legs and he steps out of it. Carrying it far away from your body by the shoulders you bring it back to your workroom.

With your back turned to him you start to cut out a lining for the dress using the smocking as a guide. He leans against the door jamb and wrings his hands nervously; you throw a look over to him. Your shoulders are nearly pinched up to your ears from embarrassment and anxiety. You chew your lip nervously trying to cut as precisely as possible with shaking hands.

“I think I’m going to head out...” He says softly jerking his thumb towards the front door. Your breath hitches in your throat; you can’t help but feel that you did something wrong. You don’t want him to go. What if it hurts the thing that you have going for each other? You don’t even know what the ‘thing’ really is but you know for sure that you want him to stay.

You turn around sharply; one arm is wrapped around his waist and the other is pulling at his hair. “Do you really want to go?” You whisper, you’re terrified of what the answer may be. Your hands weave themselves into the fabric and you squeeze and stretch it absentmindedly.

“I...no. Not really, I just feel like I did somethi-” His eyes are focussed on the ground in front of you.

“Then don’t.” You interrupt him and tilt your head to one side. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Like I said before, it’s always so hard for me to tell when I cross a line. If you’re sure you want the company then I’ll stay.” His eyes come back up to meet yours. Your grip on the dress loosens and you feel the weight slide off your shoulders.

You two decide to sit on the couch and watch movies while you work. All of his selected fabrics are strewn across the coffee table as you hand stitch the ugly squares onto the liner. Thankfully, all the textiles he chose are four-way stretch. Brian was beyond pleased when he finds your DVD of Contact and pops it in immediately; by the time the credits start rolling across the screen you have the front of the dress covered in problem patterns.

You hold it up to him and his face lights up, shifting his eyes from you to the dress. “Relax, it’s not even close to done yet. Don’t pop a B.” You roll your eyes playfully. He pushes you and laughs; he gets up off the couch and exits onto the patio again. You stare at him through the window again; he’s still shirtless from earlier and your hands lower to your lap, needle and fabric in hand.

He barrels through three cigarettes as you watch him. You want to go after him but Ginger’s voice is still in your head. ‘She’s never been in a long-term relationship.’ You, on the other hand think that a one year relationship is too short. You sometimes catch glimpses of his face when you speak to him where his eyes soften and he gets more vulnerable, like in the dressing room last night. You’ve only talked to each other for three days and you’re already in over your head with emotions. He stands up from leaning against the banister and you quickly turn back to your sewing.

“Did I ever tell you my favourite joke?” He’s grinning and plops down on the couch, his thigh touching yours. You shake your head and cut your eyes to him keeping your head turned to your sewing. “What did the necrophiliac say about his ex?”

Your head jerks up and you make a disgusted face at him. “What?” You say hesitantly.

“Rotten asshole, split on me again.” He’s wheezing laughter and flailing his arms and legs; you start screaming laughter beside him trying to keep your sewing as far away from him as possible. By the time you’re done there are tears streaming down your face and you bring one hand up to wipe them away, he’s still bursting into giggle fits trying to stop.

“Make yourself useful will you? Can you grab me another Red Bell and some chips: top shelf in the corner.” You bat your eyelashes at him; he sighs dramatically and heaves himself off the couch, the muscles in his back dance under his skin. He returns with two Red Bulls and a bag of Lays. “Thanks, Mom.” He starts flicking through your DVDs again and finds Silence of the Lambs. His weight on the couch makes you lean into him, he’s right beside you again; your shoulders touching. You’ve seen the movie a million times and lipsync along while you continue to work on his garment.

“Deborah, you should become a drag queen.” He croaks in his Maureen voice.

You look over at him with a smile, keeping your eyes on his you keep lipsyncing:

_‘Why do you think he removes their skins, Agent Startling? Entrall me with your acumen.’_

_‘It excited him. Most serial killer keep some sort of trophies from their victims.’_

_‘I didn’t.’_

_‘No. No, you ate yours.’_

Brian shifts his body to face you; he’s biting his lip and staring at your lips. He leans forward and brushes his lips against your ear, “On vtirayet los’on na kozhe, inache on svona poluchayet shlang.”

A shiver runs up your spine, “I don’t even know what that means, Brian. I need a translator.” Your voice is rough and you try desperately not to squirm in your seat.

“Maybe one day, if you get lucky. I mean, if you’re lucky.” He chuckles and turns his attention back to the movie. During the course of the film he gradually pushes more of his weight into you. By the end of the film you’re finished with all the patchwork and his head is leaning on your shoulder, you can smell his intoxicating blend of cologne and cigarettes. You tie off the final thread and hand it over to him.

He’s on his feet in a flash; you’re laying back into the cushions watching him as he holds it in front of his body. He drops the dress onto the carpet and strips off his shorts in front of you. He’s wearing a pair of lacy, purple panties.

“Oh Jesus, gross.” You mutter and cross your arms trying not to show how hot and bothered you were getting staring at the bulge through the thin fabric.

“You love it, Mother, you’re just lucky I’m not charging you this time.” He says while stretching the dress over his body. He runs to the bathroom and looks in the mirror before squealing and shuffles back out into the living room. The dress is just loose enough to accommodate his padding; it’s a tragic collage of brown plaid, red and black stripes, white and black polka dots, and beige camouflage.

He runs his hands up his body and rubs them across his chest while rolling his eyes into the back of his head with his mouth agape. You giggle at him and he’s moaning, “Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me.” He’s dancing towards you, incredibly uncoordinated and awkward. He spreads his legs and places his knees on either side of your hips to settle into your lap.

Your face is beet-red when he leans in close, “Thank you, kukla.” His hands come up to plant themselves on the back of the couch by the sides of your head. His nose brushes against yours as he closes the gap between you. His soft lips capture yours and you melt into him; your hands come to rest on the tops of his hips. You part your lips and press your tongue into his mouth, your tongues meet and you both sigh. Your heart is fluttering in your chest when he moves to press his weight further into your lap, his arms fold around the back of your neck. He presses to more kisses to your mouth before pulling back to look you in the eyes. His lips are red and swollen, parted while he breathes heavily.

“I’m at Hamburger Mary’s tomorrow; maybe you can come and throw more money at me? My children are starving.” His bottom lip juts out at you. Your hands squeeze his hips and trail up his sides; he runs his tongue over his lips.

You’re still smiling stupidly and your head is swimming when you reply, “Well if it’s for a good cause, I guess I can pencil you in.”

His smirks deviously at you: “Vot chto mne nravitsya slyshat’.” He licks his finger and grinds it into your forehead. Your core tightens at his think Russian accent. He gracefully stands up and spins one last time before sliding it off his body. His bulge is considerably larger than before and your mouth waters.

“You’re just going to kiss and run?” Your heart sinks, maybe Ginger’s right about him being unable to keep a stable relationship.

“Of course, I just used you to get a really nice dress out of you.” He winks while pulling his biking shorts up over his perky ass and slipping his pink shirt over his head. “I have somewhere to be right now, gotta grab a few things, you know?” The way he spoke seems strange to you and he appears to be a little more restless than usual. He jogs back over to you and pecks you on the lips one more time before leaving you on the couch and slipping out the front door.

You feel a little empty sitting on your couch all alone, the music on the option menu for Silence of the Lambs drones on repetitively in the background. You try to shake it off; you spent your entire day with him and it was a wonderful time so why do you feel so miserable? You sigh heavily and get off the couch. Shimmery fabrics lying across the table in your sewing room call out to you reminding you that you still have a job to do.

The rest of your day is spent over the sewing machine keeping your attention on the task at hand; you know that when your mind wanders you make mistakes that’ll cost you a lot more time in the long run. It works as a wonderful distraction from your worrying thoughts.

Later that night you crawl into bed and replay your kiss with Brian; that familiar pinch sparks in your stomach. You feel guilty about it still and ignore it for the second night in a row; your mind keeps coming back to thinking about how he acted before he left. Your phone lights up just as you’re falling asleep. Blinking groggily you push yourself up to grab your phone, there’s three messages coming in at the same time; all of them from Ginger:

_‘Are you awake?’ ‘It’s Katya.’ ‘She’s in trouble, Y/N’_

_‘What do you mean?’_ Your eyebrows scrunch together with worry.

_‘She’s being kicked out of her apartment, she just told me. I thought I would pass it along to you, she might be too proud to bring it up to you. I’d take her if I could but I live with Cee Jay and that’s a little too freaky for my taste. I feel bad.’_

_‘When is she being kicked out? Why?’_

_‘End of the week. I don’t know why. She’s freaking out on me.’_

_‘Well what the fuck, I never heard about this?!’_

_‘Jesus, take it easy! I JUST said that it just happened, bitch. I don’t need too crazies screaming at me, I’m too sober for this.’_

_‘Fucking Christ, Josh.’_

Out in the hallway your intercom buzzes and your heart leaps into your throat. After a few seconds it goes off again. You throw the covers off of yourself and trudge down the hallway. You press the talk button:

“This better be good, it’s fucking late.” You growl into the microphone.

A meek voice crackles over the speaker: “It’s Brian... I need your help.”


	4. Take It or Leave It

You’re pacing back and forth waiting to hear his footsteps outside. You live on the fifth floor of your apartment; it has a perfectly good elevator but based on how long you’ve been waiting you figure he must have taken the stairs. It feels like an eternity with your anxiety pumping oil into your veins and lighting it ablaze. Finally, you hear the heels of his shoes thumping against the carpet in the hallway and you rip open the door.

He’s standing there in a grey, long-sleeved V neck and skinny jeans. His hand is raised, moving to knock on your door. He lets his arm drop and stares at your feet; his face is pinched with a troubled expression and his shoulders are slumping forward. You reach out your hand and wrap your fingers around his: they’re freezing cold. You hold the door open as you gently pull him inside. The door clicks shut and you lean back against it; he still has his eyes on the floor.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” You feign ignorance just to see what he has to say about the incident in his own words. You know that Ginger is always a drama queen first and a drag queen second. “It’s very late and I’m tired, Bri’.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” He shakes his head in frustration and reaches out, twisting the handle to open the door again. You shove your back against the door with all of your weight and it slams shut. Someone in another apartment yells into the hall but it’s too muffled for you to make out what they said.

“You don’t just come all the way over here, ask for my help, and then get to leave. Your hands are fucking freezing, too. Did you- did you walk here?” You touch the side of his face with the back of your hand, he’s frozen solid. “Jesus, Brian.” You hold his hand and lead him to the couch and sit him down, he slumps into the cushions gracelessly.

You tear through the apartment putting on a kettle to boil and grabbing the pink comforter off of your bed. He’s still sitting there looking absolutely miserable with his lips pressing so hard together that they’re turning white; he’s raking his fingernails across his arm obsessively. You drape the blanket over him and adjust it so it’s wrapped around his body. Going to the cupboard you find that you only have oolong tea left, you shrug your shoulders and make two cups.

You set the tea down on the coffee table and kneel down to take off his runners, tossing them to the side and lifting his feet onto the table. You lower yourself onto the couch and push the cup over to him. It takes him a second before he reluctantly picks it up and cradles it in his hands. Even under the bulk of the comforter he seems to be relaxing.

He turns his head but doesn’t make eye contact, he begins in a quiet tone, “I didn’t know where to go.” His nails scrape nervously against the side of his mug; his blue eyes finally meet yours. “They’ve politely asked me to vacate my apartment.” He says slowly, carefully selecting each word as he speaks.

“Any reason? You can claim renter’s rights.” You probe and tilt your head to the side.

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s for the best regardless. They said that I was _‘Disruptive Presence’_.” He lifts one hand from his cup and bends his pointer and middle fingers in air quotations.

“That doesn’t sound like you, though.” Your eyebrows knit together and you readjust yourself so you’re sitting cross-legged facing him. You snag your cup off the table and take a slow sip.

He shrugs his shoulders and sighs “Landlord’s a cunt anyway.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “Do you have a place to go?”

“Trix is in a studio apartment; Ginger’s place is full up.” He shakes his head in sorrow and lifts his mug to his lips.

“You do now. Just so you can get back on your feet. I don’t really have a lot of room to keep your things, though.” You look around your apartment; you do have an extra storage closet that could be used. Maybe you could reorganize your own closet and make room for his drag.

His eyes dart up to look at you again, “You’re sure? I don’t have a lot of shit. My apartment is basically a walk-in closet for my drag.” The corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile before it vanishes again.

“I can figure something out. I don’t want you sleeping behind a dumpter.”

“Again.” He adds and takes another sip of his tea.

“When do you have to be gone?”

“One week.” His face pinches in pain. “I’ll pay your full rent here. You don’t have to take me, honestly.”

“Just shut the fuck up already.” You say with a smile, “I’ll squeeze you in here.”

“I’m pretty big; it’ll be a tight squeeze for sure.” He’s smiling now and has one leg pulled up onto the couch to face you.

“I’ll bring lube.” You quip and return the smile; you take a big swallow of your tea and set it onto the coffee table.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again, Brenda.” His Maureen voice comes out,

“You’re fucking sick. I change my mind about having you here.” You push his shoulder playfully.

He takes another drink and scrunches his nose. “I fucking hate oolong.” He puts his cup on the table and pulls his other leg onto the couch, crossing them to mirror you.

You raise your eyebrows in shock, “Oh, okay. I’ll remember that the next time you come to _my_ house and ask for _my_ help and take up _my_ space. I’ll remember that you hate oolong, okay?”

“That’s all I’m asking for, I’m a simple man...woman.” He chimes with a sweet smile.

“I’ll clear out half of my closet for your outfits. I have another closet over there.” You point to the hallway. “The living room is big enough for anything else.”

He’s listening intently and leaning forward as you speak. There’s a smile on his face and he nods slowly. “I’m glad that I have you around. You’re not a total bitch like I originally suspected.”

“I wouldn’t speak too quickly on that.” You wave a hand dismissively but inside your heart is fluttering. You peek over his shoulder and squint to read the numbers shining from the faceplate of your microwave: it’s three in the morning. “I think I need to go to bed, I’m starting to hallucinate that you’re an attractive person.” You flash a smile at him before lifting yourself off the couch.

“Scratch that then, you _are_ a total bitch. That dumpster sounds better every second, don’t think I won’t leave you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, McCook.” You call over your shoulder as you’re walking to your bedroom; you grab an extra pillow off your bed and a sheet from your closet. He’s standing up in the middle of the living room holding the comforter around his neck like a cape. You scan him with a judging look.

“It’s high fashion, you wouldn’t understand.” He reaches a hand up and runs it through his short, dirty-blonde hair dramatically.

“I don’t think I want to understand.” You’re giggling as you pass by him. You lay the sheet down on the couch and throw the pillow onto one of the armrests and gesture with a grand sweep of your arm. “Your luxury suite awaits.” He throws the comforter on top of the sheet and pulls his shirt over his head. You unconsciously pull in a sharp breath and stare at his pale, lean chest. He catches you looking at him.

“Do you want me to do it again in slow motion for you, Deborah?” Your face flushes immediately and you avert your eyes, he chuckles to himself. He’s stripping off his skinny jeans now and you can barely contain yourself. There’s a considerable bulge in his red Marco Marco briefs. He stands again and his pale eyes run up and down your body before he brushes past you and descends onto the couch. He worms his way under the covers. The comforter is pulled up around his head and only his face is peeking out at you.

He pulls a disgusted face and looks up at you, “Is this the pillow that you hump at night? Smells like it.” Ice water runs through your veins; when you did your laundry yesterday you didn’t change the pillowcases and with the dreams you’ve been having lately there’s a possibility...

“No.” You reply too quickly with your eyebrows furrowed.

“I was just kidding, but based on your reaction I’m nervous now. Are you depraved, Linda?” He cocks an eyebrow at you speaking in his Maureen voice. The weight in your chest lessens into embarrassment instead of crushing anxiety.

“Listen. It’s been a while, be good to her she’s my longest lasting relationship.” You shift your weight onto one foot and fold your hands in front of you.

“’She’? You filthy lesbian. Well now I don’t stand a chance. I was going to offer to fill the position; 300 thread count must get pretty vanilla after a while. Will you settle for half a woman?”

“Please, you’re too much woman for me, I couldn’t handle it.” You wave your hand in front of your face and swoon.

“Probably not.” He snips sarcastically. He pauses for a moment deep in thought before speaking again “So, do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t have a partner.” You look down and start picking at the remains of your black nail polish. He nods his head slowly while he chews on his bottom lip. “What about you?” Your voice wavers slightly as you fear his response; he doesn’t reply right away. He shifts under the covers to lie on his back.

“Do cadavers count? I have a guy in a funeral home that hooks me up all the time.” His arms fold behind his head; the covers shift down to expose his upper body. There’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m dead inside but I don’t think I could compete with a real corpse.” You giggle and turn away to shut off the kitchen light. You pad to the light switch for the living room and pause with your hand hovering over it, “I’ll see you in the morning.” You smile, his head is turned to you and he returns the smile.

“If you live through the night, I can still be a serial killer, you know.” You snort and shake your head while flicking the switch and returning to your bed.

Once you’re back under the covers you pull your phone from the bedside table and shoot off a text to Ginger:

_‘I have Brian here now. He’s staying on my couch until he can get things sorted.’_

_‘You mean he told you what’s going on? And he came to you? By himself? You guys JUST met. What the fuck is going on!’_

_‘I don’t know, maybe YOU should ask him! You’re like best friends maybe you can get to the bottom of this, Nancy Drew. I’m fucking tired, I’m going to bed. Good night, bitch.’_

_‘You bet your ass I’m going to talk to him. He’s gotta be having a stroke. Night.’_

When you open your eyes again the clock is staring you in the face telling you that it’s two in the afternoon. You grumble about lost time and pry yourself out of bed. You contemplate changing your clothes to look somewhat presentable for Brian. Taking a look in the mirror you try to tame your hair into something less vile. You pull your oversized Ginger Minj shirt back over your ass to hide your thong and shrug to yourself, you figure it’s good enough.

You walk barefoot out into the hall and push open the bathroom door. Brian is standing in front of the toilet with one leg perched on the seat scraping a razor up the side of his leg. He has a pink towel wrapped around the top of his head and he looks up at you when you walk in.

“Can’t a girl get a little privacy?” He throws his arm across his chest to cover his nipples. You don’t react to him and keep a straight face.

“That’s my razor, isn’t it?” You say flatly and cross your arms.

“You can’t prove anything, Deborah.” He croaks and keeps shaving. You roll your eyes and walk away. “Wait!” He calls after you and you walk backwards to peek your head back in. He holds the razor out to you with a brilliant smile, “Can you shave my asshole?”

“Of course!” You reply warmly.

“What, really?” His eyebrows raise and he does a double-take.

“No!” You make a disgusted face at him and continue out to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. You make it extra strong; Morgan had commissioned a new outfit from you a few days ago and you continued to put it off. You know that she won’t give you any trouble for taking a while with it considering it is a fairly labour-intensive look. She ordered an emerald green peplum top with short puffy sleeves, a whisk collar, and lacing across the front of her body: who would she be without a breast plate? She also wants a matching pencil skirt with large ruffles down the back of it. It’s going to be a long day.

“Way to get a girl’s hopes up, cunt.” He echoes from the bathroom. You’re pulled from your thoughts by his voice and you smile. You take your coffee black and drag yourself into your work room.

It’s not until you hear heels clicking across the hardwood that you realize how long you’ve been focussed on your work. You push the skirt to the side and spin in your chair.

Katya is leaning against the doorjamb. She’s wearing a red sequined bodysuit with thigh-high, red, leather boots and fishnets. She has a voluminous, curly, platinum blonde wig on. She’s fully painted with heavy, black shadow swept over her eyelids and her signature red lip. Her red, oval-tipped nails are drumming against her thigh. You try your best not to drool on yourself so you make a joke.

“Ah, I was getting worried when I didn’t see you in a leotard for more than four hours.” You cross one leg over the other. You’re still wearing what you slept in and it dawns on you that you flashed her.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Sharon Stone?” One delicate eyebrow raises, you feel your face get hot. Her heels echo in your work room as she approaches you and holds out her slender hand. You feel a lump in your throat and lay your hand in hers. She lifts you up and spins you in a circle, “Are you coming?” She purrs and runs a fingernail under your jaw. You can’t speak around the lump so you just nod. “Good.” She draws out the word. “Get ready, you look like shit.” The sexual tone drains out of her voice almost immediately and she’s grinning at you.

You slap her shoulder and head out into the hallway. You try to get ready as quickly as possible. You eventually come out of your bedroom wearing a dark purple dress that falls to the middle of your thighs. It has a deep V going down the front with black lacing running from collar to cleavage. There’s a studded, leather collar around your neck with a ring attached to it. Katya’s sitting cross-legged on your couch her eyes are completely focussed on her phone.

“You coming?” You tap your foot at her.

“Holy shit, I’m coming right now.” She slaps her hands over her crotch

“You’re sick.”

“I know, the cancer is spreading, Barbara.” She’s up on her feet now, her hand brushes against yours when she walks by to open the front door. She glances back at you holding the door open, you duck past her and she shuts the door for you.

The ride to Hamburger Mary’s is relatively quiet. You stop back at Katya’s to pick up her drag supplies and then head to the venue. She’s swiping through her Twitter notifications, the blue glow from the screen lighting up her face and burning through her hair in the dark cab. Her pouty, red mouth is moving while she’s lip syncing to a song in her head. You lean your head against your hand and watch her.

Once you’re out of the cab you follow Katya through the alley and into the backstage, her blonde curls bouncing while she walks. At the end of the hallway she stops at a door with a piece of paper taped across it; it used to have ‘Drag Race’ written on it but it’s crossed out and ‘Bitches’ has taken its place in black Sharpie. Her pale hand wraps around the doorknob, she looks back at you with a soft smile and opens the door.

The room is filled with life: laughing, screaming, hairspray and perfume is in the air. Most of the noise is coming from the local girls near the front of the room. Further down in the back corner is a couple of stations with other queens hunched quietly at their stations. The light bulbs around their mirrors are shining brightly on their faces. From this distance you can’t really make out any of them but you notice a huge, blonde wig on one of the queens.

Katya touches your shoulder lightly to guide you through the crowd of half-naked men and makes a beeline for the quiet girls. As you get closer you recognize Morgan and Ongina. Even from far away you had a sneaking suspicion of who the blonde wig belongs to but now that you’re closer you see that you were right.

Trixie sat on the edge of her stool staring intensely in the mirror with her mouth hanging open applying mascara to her long lashes. She has a large blonde wig on top of her head that cascades down her back in gentle curls. She’s wearing a flowy pink and gold paisley dress and pink pumps on her feet that are crossed at the ankles and swept to the side of her stool. You have never met her before and are, frankly, quite star struck and a little intimidated. You stand awkwardly off to the side and pick at your nail polish.

Morgan’s nails brush down the side of your arm and you jump. She leans over in her chair, grabs your hand and pulls you over to her. You end up standing between her and Ongina. Morgan is beaming at you.

“Hey, bitch! Wow, you look like me, you slut. You came to see me didn’t you?” She winks, “I know I’m irresistible.”

“Yeah, can’t seem to get rid of you.” You rest your hand on her shoulder. She’s toying with her lashes she cuts her eyes to you in the mirror.

“She’s like herpes.” Ongina chimes in and you giggle with her.

“Y’all are fuckin’ bitches. I’m not commissioning you anymore. I can find someone else...who’s nicer.” Her words are distorted as she applies lip gloss.

“Since when have you _ever_ cared about nice?” You prop a hand on your hip.

“She’s right, it’s gonna be a cold day in hell when you win Miss Congeniality.” Ongina smiles while brushing a setting powder onto her face.

“Or fan favourite.” You add with a smirk.

“Keep talking, act a fool.” She says flatly but the corner of her mouth is turned up while she’s fixing small imperfections in her makeup. “How’s my outfit coming, by the way? You usually have this shit done by now.”

“You’re right, it _is_ shit. Your design is pretty demanding, you know. All I’m trying to do is make it perfect for you.” You run your hand up and down her arm, “Darling.”

“Ew, don’t touch me, lesbian.” She quips and Ongina snickers from behind you. Morgan turns around in her chair with a wide smile, “I know you can take a big load.” She wags her eyebrows at you. “How do I look?”

“You’re perfect, you’re beautiful” You gush dramatically.

“ _You look like a model._ ” Both you and Ongina say together and burst out laughing. Morgan rolls her eyes and starts to pull on her brown and blonde, ombre wig. Katya catches your eye and subtly tilts her head signalling for you to come back. You give the girls a squeeze on their shoulders and head back to her.

She’s standing in front of her station, all of her things are already spread out on the table and the patchwork dress that you made for her is hanging up on the wall. Trixie is still absorbed in her makeup application and doesn’t notice you there with Katya.

The other local queens start screaming “Yas, Queen!” you peek over and one of the girls is waving an oversized fan in her face with a cheap feather boa slung over her shoulder. Trixie visibly flinches and almost messes up her lip liner, you can see her teeth grinding.

“Other dressing room is closed apparently.” She growls shaking her head. “If I have to hear a tongue pop one more time I’m gonna fucking throw myself off a bridge.”

“I mean, you should.” Katya adds nonchalantly, she’s bent forward running her nail across her bottom lip to sharpen the edge of her lip line.

“Maybe pull back, Linda.” She’s running lipstick across her overdrawn lips. You can’t help but stare at her; her makeup application is so beautiful but the placement of it is so strange. Trixie looks so much more intense in real life than you imagined.

“I’ll pull back but I’m not pulling out, Barbara” You take a step forward to stand beside Katya. The lights at her station are shining off her sequined bodysuit and casting beams against the drywall that dance as she fluffs her hair with her fingertips.

“Yeah your dad loves it when I don’t pull out.” Trixie shoots back with a quirk of her eyebrow. Katya snorts laughter and finally pulls away from the mirror. Her blue eyes meet yours and she smiles down at you. You’re caught up in this moment; she always looks so beautiful in her makeup that it’s captivating. Trixie stands up off her stool and stretches her back before turning to face the two of you.

“Oh, and by the way. Where the fuck did you get that?” Trixie’s short, round nail sweeps over to the patchwork dress on its hanger. “I wouldn’t even be buried in that. Did you just sit a blind kid in front of a sewing machine and say: ‘Well, there you go!’?”

“Actually...” Katya grabs your hand and pulls you in front of her like a shield. You shoot a dirty look back at her before turning to face Trixie. Her brown eyes scan you from head to toe; her overdrawn, pink lips are pressed together, deep in thought.

“Is this a hostage situation?” She whispers at you in her gruff voice. “Blink once for yes or twice for no.”

“I think I can handle myself, she’s pretty fragile and I stole her life alert button.” You smile back, Katya slaps you on the arm and you look up at her and giggle.

Trixie’s eyes narrow and stare into Katya’s face, you look back and forth between the two of them, there’s silence for a few moments. Trixie’s eyebrows raise higher than they already are and her pink lips part to mouth ‘Oh’ nodding her head slowly.

“This is the designer?” She flicks her finger at you as she’s talking to Katya. She nods her head. Trixie’s gaze rests on you but she’s still speaking to her. “This is the one, huh?”

“You make it sound so fucking sinister, you sound like you’re going to kidnap her and sell her to a foreign sex trafficking market. That’s my job.” Katya brushes some stray hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

“So what is it? Do you have a glass eye...a peg leg? Do you have daddy issues? You’ve _got_ to with the way you’re dressed.” She bends down until her face is level with yours and rests her hands on your shoulders. “You can do so much better. You should run.”

“I can’t really run in heels but I’m trying.” Her sweet perfume is wafting in your face and you get a little giddy, you’re still fan-girling a bit.

“Well neither can I and look how well it turned out for me.” She straightens back up and brushes her hair over her shoulder dramatically while batting her eyes.

“You should probably learn how to run in heels then, Mother.” She said in her Maureen voice, she takes a seat back in front of the mirror and starts applying hairspray to a long, wavy, blonde wig that’s propped up on her table. Trixie pulls her autoharp out of its case and brushes her dress underneath of her as she sits back down.

You check the time on your phone and shift your eyes between Trixie and Katya, they’re absorbed in their work again. You clear your throat awkwardly. Trixie flicks her eyes up at you in the mirror.

“It’s getting close to show time, I’m gunna...” You point towards the door, Katya looks up from her wig and smiles.

“Remember me.” Her long fingers stretch out to you with a forlorn look on her face. You giggle; Trixie presses her lips together and nods.

“I’m sure she will. You give everyone PTSD with a face like yours.” She flashes a crooked smile while tuning her instrument and sits it back down on the table. Katya starts to sing “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole and she pulls herself into hysterical, flailing laughter. Trixie turns in her chair and screams, slightly mimicking Katya’s flailing.

Laughing, you turn away and brush your fingertips along the backs of Ongina and Morgan. When they turn to look at you, you wiggle your fingers and worm your way through the cluster of queens.

You snag a Red Bull from the bartender and find a two person table near the front of the stage. People are slowly filtering in through the front door; you pay them no mind and trace the patterns in the wooden table top. There’s still a half hour before the show starts, you order a vodka soda to go with your Red Bull.

  
_Katya’s POV:_

  
Trixie’s head is turned right around and staring daggers into Y/N’s back, the second the door closes behind her she whips her head around, her blonde curls flying. She throws her hands up with a crazed look in her eyes.

“What the fuck?! You never said your designer was a _woman_!”

“Does it matter? Women can do anything.” She sniffs, shrugging her shoulders and turning her attention back to the wig on her counter. She picks up a rat tail comb and starts to tease the curls back into submission.

“Yes it matters; you made me look like a jackass!” She pick up her autoharp again and cradles it in her arms, her nails are drumming against the edge of it.

“You do a fine job on your own, you don’t need my help.” She shoots a sweet smile at her, blasting the wig with hairspray. Trixie rolls her eyes and throws her head back groaning towards the ceiling.

“That’s not the point! The point is that you’re: A, dating a fan, B, dating a woman, and C, not keeping me up to date.” Katya’s head turns in a flash to meet Trixie’s eyes.

“We’re not dating.” She spits out.

“Not yet. You talk about this ‘designer’ all the time!” She gently lays her harp down. “So what’s going on, then?” Her hands fold daintily in her lap and she crosses one leg over the other.

“She offered for me to stay with her. You know, because of the whole apartment thing.” Trixie’s brows shoot up at that but she keeps talking. “We kissed a couple times but,” She waves her hand dismissively, “I don’t know, nothing came out of it, I guess... I don’t even know if she likes me, it must be all my TV money.” She flashes a wide smile trying to deflect the conversation; Trixie continues to stare at her expectantly. Katya heaves a sigh and drops her gaze to the floor, “This is fucked.” She mutters under her breath.

Trixie takes a deep breath to calm herself, “All I’m saying is be careful, okay?”

“I always make good decisions.” She tilts her head with a smile.

“Clearly.” Trixie’s hand extends out to her and sweeps up and down her outfit. Katya starts to shake her arms and flap her hands, her mouth is open but no sound comes out.

“Shut up, you cunt!” She says breathlessly.


	5. Cherry Bomb

The restaurant gets progressively noisier as time passes, soon all the tables are full up. You pull the chair from the other side of the table around beside you and place your purse on it. The last thing you want is for someone to bother you. You order a double vodka soda and cross your legs under the table. The lights dim and the audience starts to clap. The few times that you had been to Mary’s always threw you off; the setup is so formal as opposed to your regular club where it’s a cluster-fuck free-for-all. You do enjoy not having someone press up against you whenever a Drag Racer gets on stage.

It’s the same old formula: alternating between local girls and Ru Girls. Morgan is wearing one of your pieces when she performs “Greedy” by Ariana Grande. The audience howls while she prances around the stage and pretends not to know any of the words. Ongina performs “Firework” by Katy Perry and you’re smiling knowing that Trixie is somewhere right now rolling her eyes. Trixie is up after a few more locals. She takes a seat on a barstool in the middle of the stage with her autoharp nestled in her arms.

“This one goes out to anyone who’s dated a mean lesbian.” The crowd laughs, you laugh harder than you should and take a drink. Trixie’s eyes cut to you and dart away. She starts to sing “The Chain” by Fleetwood Mac; Fleetwood is one of your favourite bands, you prop your head in your hands and watch her dreamily. When the song ends she strums a long final chord and stands, she bows gracefully before leaving the stage.

Katya comes out right after Trixie. “Cherry Bomb” by The Runaways starts to play as she struts out onto the stage.

 _Can’t stay at home, can’t stay at school_  
_Old folks say “Ya poor little fool”_  
_Down the street I’m the girl next door_  
_I’m the fox you’ve been waiting for_

She’s running her fingers up into her hair and shaking the curls into a mess. Her hips are swaying to the music as she gropes her breasts. She falls to her knees and pulls herself to the edge of the stage; she rolls onto her back and kicks her legs in the air. Her head is dangling off the stage as she mouths the words. Her hands are running across her thighs, she pulls her legs up against her chest and then spreads them wide. She kicks her legs over her head and rolls off the edge of the stage into a split on the hardwood, the audience is screaming over the music.

 _Hello daddy, hello mom_  
_I’m your ch- ch- ch- ch- ch- ch- cherry bomb_

She whips her hair wildly to the lyrics and throws her head back to push the curls out of her face. She stands again and rests her arms along the top of the stage and pulls herself into a high kick. Still bracing against the stage she moves her hips slowly dipping low and coming back up again.

She’s stalking toward you now licking her lips. When she reaches you she throws her leg straight up and rests it on your shoulder. She slides her leg further up so her crotch is inches from your face. You press your knees together and grit your teeth to try and suppress the tension building in your stomach. One finger loops into the ring around your leather collar and jerks your head closer until your face is inches away from hers; you can feel her breath against your mouth as she lipsyncs.

One pale hand reaches down and pulls your hand up to caress her leg. You can feel the muscles working under the surface and you squeeze her thigh. Her eyes burn into yours and there’s a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She lifts her leg back over your head and sits in your lap; she leans against your shoulder and runs one sharp nail under your chin. You sigh involuntarily, loud enough that she can hear it. She stands again and goes around to the front tables collecting tips and stuffing them down her leotard.

She lifts herself up to sit on the edge of the stage and spreads her legs. She runs her hands over her crotch while she enunciates every syllable. She scoots backwards and pushes herself into a handstand. The girls around you are casting judging glances in your direction. You meet their eyes and immediately turn your head back to Katya. You feel your face getting hot. Your hand shoots up to pull on your earring and anxiety pulls your shoulders into a hunch.

On stage Katya is on her knees with her thighs spread, she’s lying on her back and bucking her hips up while feigning masturbation. She bolts back up and she stares at you, squeezing her breasts.

 _I’ll give you something to live for_  
_Have ya, grab ya ‘til you’re sore_

You wish that she would stop looking at you; people are barely watching her now, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Katya. You squirm in your seat trying desperately to pretend that you don’t see them. Katya notices her loss of attention and gives you a worried look.

In the final moments of the song she leaps off the stage and falls into a split on the floor. The crowd tears their eyes off of you and turn back to her. The audience is screaming and standing up off of their chairs. She catches her tongue between her teeth and stands again. She waves to them and slips backstage. Your heart sinks when she leaves; everyone near you is staring at you again.

Thankfully more local girls come out almost immediately and distract most of them. A group of girls two tables down are staring daggers into you, a lot of them appear to be jealous; their nails drumming on the table with bitter looks on their faces. You wish you could just disappear. You slam through the rest of your drink and order another double downing half of it at once. You try your best to enjoy the entertainment but you’re not very convincing.

The show comes to a close with a quick comedy number from the host, everyone claps and starts paying their tab. Your eyes are glued to the wooden table; everyone stays put. Katya is doing a meet and greet after the show and people are waiting patiently. You want to slip backstage but with everyone still around you can’t. You want to be as discreet as possible with all the rumours flying around about the two of you. You can already see the table of girls approaching you from the corner of your eye and hold your breath. The three girls stop at your table; one of them presses her hands into the tabletop and leans forward. You offer them a glance and a polite smile, trying to swallow the bitter taste in the back of your throat.

“Hi.” The stares continue, her chipped French tip nails tap against the wood. “Do you need something?”

The one girl has her hair curled into messy locks that she would probably consider a ‘beach-y sex look’. She’s dressed in a tacky, black, cocktail dress. She has what Ginger Minj would call “Blue Garage Doors”; bright blue eye shadow is swept across her top lid with no blending.

“Nothing. Just trying to figure out what makes you so special.” She sneers in a Valley Girl voice.

“Ah. I see.” You nod your head slowly.

“What, are you Katya’s beard now or something?” The two girls beside her just tilt their head and try to intimidate you but they don’t speak. “You’re not even a pretty beard, it’s really sad actually.” Adrenalin courses through your veins as your anxiety hits an all-time high.

“Your mom would slap you if she saw you right now.” You narrow your eyes at her.

“What, for bullying you? She’d be proud; people like you need to be put in your place.” Her arms cross and one white pump taps on the hardwood floor.

“I wasn’t talking about your attitude. You look like if Buffalo Bill won a shopping spree to H&M.” You flash a sweet smile, her hand darts across the table and throws your drink in your face. You stand up, your chair sliding so far back that it hits a table behind you. Katya trots out of the backstage with her friendly stage demeanor. The girls’ faces light up and they crowd in front of her.

She is wearing her wig that she was styling backstage and the dress that you made for her. It pleases you to no end that it fits perfectly and distracts you from the situation but not for long. There are Sharpies sticking out of the wig in all directions. She rubs her hands together with a blinding smile.

“Now what can I do for you three bitches tonight, huh?” The girls are taken aback and their mouths hang open.

“We were-” Her hand waves in your direction, “We were just talking. Just trying to see what you two are doing.” Katya’s eyebrows knit together and she shakes her head in shock.

“What are you even talking about? You threw a drink in her face, you classless cunt. This isn’t Real Housewives.”

“Well-” She holds one hand up in front of her face so close that it almost touches her, she’s shaking her head with a scolding look.

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you; you look like the last choice of girls to be cast for a Heathers remake.” She glares down at them, “Now get the fuck out of here because I am literally going to beat the fucking shit out of you.” Her glare breaks immediately and she flashes another brilliant smile. The pack leader gives you one more sour look before snaking her way through the crowd with her minions in tow. Katya turns to you with a sad look on her face.

“I’m sorry, Y/N...maybe you should go to the dressing room, I’ll be back in an hour. I mean, if you want to wait.” She adds quickly. You nod slowly and slip through the door without a backwards glance.

You stand in the hallway with your back against the wall and pull your phone out of your pocket. You dial Ginger and hold the phone to your ear.

“Hey, girl! What’s up, you never call.” Her Floridian accent comes out strong.

“Ging’.” You manage around the lump in your throat.

“Oh god, what happened?” Her voice is stern on the other end.

“There’s- There’s these girls... People are starting to stare at me wh- when Katya is around.” You’re sobbing now with tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know what to do, Ginger.” She heaves a sigh.

“I’m sorry, honey.” She says softly, “Cee-Jay went through the same thing.” You can hear him in the background saying something. “He says that you need to decide if she’s worth it.” There’s more mumbling, “And that you need to grow a pair because Katya isn’t going to do it.” You let out a sad laugh between your sobs.

“I just- I just want people to leave me alone.” You massage your temple with your fingers.

“I’m gonna give you some tough love here. Even if you cut ties with Katya right now there will still be speculation. People love to talk about bullshit and you’re bullshit.” Cee Jay is laughing in the background and you smile wiping the tears away with the back of your hand, your hand is covered in watery mascara and you let out an irritated sigh. You hear heels echoing around the corner.

“Someone’s coming, I gotta go. Thanks Ginger, thank you, Cee Jay, hope to see you soon. I love you, Ging’.” You whisper hoarsely and sniffle.

“Fuckin’ lesbian.” She snorts, “Love ya, girl.” You end the call, stuff your phone back into your purse and swipe your ring fingers across your cheeks.

Trixie’s huge wig is bouncing as she comes around the corner quickly. She’s shaking her phone at you with her eyebrows raised.

“How come every time something happens to Katya _I_ have to hear about it?” She towers over you and you cower slightly. “My fucking Twitter is all about you instead of me.” She brushes her hair over her shoulder and flicks her eyes up and down your body. “You shouldn’t be crying, _I’m_ the one that should be crying.” You wipe at your eyes one more time and take a deep breath. She waits for you to speak but continues when you take too long.

“Listen. I’m only going to say this once.” She plants her hand against the wall and leans against it. “People are jealous. People like Katya for some ungodly reason. Maybe take advantage of this? That’s all I’m saying.” She trots down the hallway to the dressing room and holds the door open for you; she shakes her head with her eyebrows raised, “Coming?”

You shuffle quickly to her and slip into the dressing room. She takes a seat at her station in the corner and you plop down on Katya’s stool. Trixie takes her wig off and places it delicately on a Styrofoam head. Her mouth is hanging open as she pulls her lashes off her eyes and blinks hard.

“How do I deal with all of this, then?” You start softly and her eyes cut to you briefly.

“To quote Leviticus 12:23: ‘Good God get a grip, girl’. Also do what I do and never read the comments.” She pulls a makeup wipe from her pack and drags it across one eye. “She really likes you.” She adds. Your heart leaps into your throat and you blush, she catches the look on your face and rolls her eyes, “Oh, Jesus.”

You sit quietly and watch her de-drag. The local drag queens chatter excitedly, the occasional “Werk!” and “Okurrr!” standing out above the constant noise. One of the queens screams dramatically as she pulls the tape off of her tuck. Trixie’s jaw tightens and she growls while smudging off the last bit of makeup.

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He stands up and starts to take off his dress. He undoes the strap and throws his breastplate onto the vanity. You examine them from a distance and look at the makeup that’s caked around the edges.

“My eyes are up here.” He snaps at you and you laugh. “Oh cool, she’s still alive.” He looks behind you and you turn in your chair. Katya has a smile on her face as she walks over to you.

“Mother, I’ve been mauled by bears again.” She says in her Maureen voice.

“Don’t you mean mauled by a bear?” You tilt your head at her.

“No.” You hear Brian scream behind you and you laugh at him. You get off her chair and she takes a seat. She pulls her lashes off with a pained look on her face and places them back in their case. You lean against her vanity and watch her run a wipe across her lips smearing the red lipstick across her face. Her blue eyes meet yours for a second before turning her attention back to the mirror. Brian comes up behind you wearing a trucker hat, a flannel shirt with the arms cut off and a dirty pair of jeans.

“There’s the man I was looking for!” Katya smiles at him in the mirror. You take a long look at him with an eyebrow cocked.

“Yes, good thing you dress as a woman or else you’d never get laid, Uncle Derek.” You jest with mock judgement.

“Quite the sharp tongue on you, maybe that’s why Katya likes you so much.” He winks, the air around you shifts and both you and Katya tense up. “Oh wow, just got chilly in here.” He puts the rest of his things into his suitcase and starts to head for the door.

“Bye, dykes!” He tosses a hand over his shoulder and pushes through the gaggle of queens.

You take a seat in Trixie’s chair and fold your hands in your lap. She’s wiping away any traces of foundation and takes her wig off laying it gently across the table. He starts to take off his jewellery, he clears his throat.

“I’m so sorry for what happened.” His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the babbling queens on the other side of the room.

“It’s fine.” You reach your hand up and play with your earring.

‘’But it’s not though. You got attacked because of me.” He faces you full on. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault for reciprocating feelings!” You say sternly, “I talk to Ginger, you know.” Your face is pulled together in frustration. His mouth falls open trying to find the words. You fear that you went in a little too harsh.

“I think we need to put a pin in this.” He stands and yanks his suitcase beside him. He’s still in his outfit and shoes when he turns toward the door. You follow him as he storms through the halls and into the alley. The night air bites at your skin, you pull your phone out and order an Uber. He’s leaning against the brick wall of the club lighting a cigarette and staring up at the moon. His heel is bouncing nervously against the pavement and his dress is clinging to his padded body. One hand rubs against his other arm as he lifts his cigarette to his mouth and takes a long drag off of it.

You hesitate before you approach him, he doesn’t look at you. You lean against the cold brick and sigh, your breath coming out in a cloud of fog. There’s silence for quite some time. He lights another cigarette.

“You looked really good tonight.” You offer.

“I know.” He shuts you down and your heart sinks. You blink back tears until the Uber pulls up. He crushes his cigarette under his heel and climbs in with you.

The ride home is silent. Thankfully, the driver doesn’t try to start up a conversation. When you pull up to your apartment you drag his suitcase out of the trunk and carry it for him. The tension in the air can be cut with a knife as you reach your apartment door. You open the door for him and he takes his suitcase from you and trudges to the bathroom locking it behind him.

You shake your head and go to your bedroom closing the door. You unzip your dress and hang it up. The tears come again as you pull off your pantyhose and pumps. You hear the shower turn on in the bathroom and allow yourself to cry a little louder knowing that he won’t hear. You pull an oversized Morgan McMichaels t-shirt out of your dresser and slide it over your naked body not even bothering to put on underwear.

You sit on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands letting sobs rake through your body. You don’t even know where to start; everything is just a flurry of emotions. Did you break his trust? Did you hurt his relationship with Ginger by telling him that she talks about him? Is he going to leave? Where would he go? Your phone lights up your dark bedroom. You squint at the screen; it’s Ginger:

_‘How are things, honey?’_

_‘He won’t talk to me.’_ You let out another sob while sending that text.

_‘What did you say?’_

_‘I told him that I knew that he has feelings for me.’_

_‘Fuck, Kat’s gonna fucking kill me.’_ Your heart leaps into your throat, maybe you did hurt their friendship, _‘Someone had to say it. I’m happy that you did. Maybe she’ll pull the stick out of her ass now.’_ You give a small smile at the screen.

_‘What do I do with him now?’_

_‘She’ll come around. Promise. She’s just shell-shocked right now. I told you this whole “feelings” business is fucking weird for her. Maybe talk about it.’_

_‘Yeah that’s easier said than done, sunshine. He’s sulking in the shower right now.’_

_‘That’s her Friday night, girl.’_ You laugh a little wiping your eyes. _‘Cee Jay says rope ‘em and ride ‘em. That always makes things better.’_ You snort and blush at the thought.

_‘You’re disgusting.’_

_‘I got it from you, you’re wearing off on me, nasty bitch.’_

_‘Like herpes.’_

_‘Exactly. Now stop blubbering and go get her.’_

_‘I’m nervous, though.’_

_‘Yeah and life sucks but you have to do it. It’ll get worse if you don’t talk.’_

_‘Fine. If this doesn’t work I’m going to fucking kill you.’_

_‘Looking forward to it. Now go_.’

You sigh heavily and heave yourself off the bed, your feel slap against the hardwood as you head to the kitchen. You grab a bag of chips and a pop from the fridge. You turn on the TV and flip through the channels until you see Top Gun and stop; you throw your feet up on the coffee table. The shower stops running and you try to act as natural as possible. You crack open the pop and start nervously munching away on the chips. Your eyes keep darting between the screen and the bathroom door. The door opens after some time.

He emerges wearing a baggy Katya t-shirt and loose-fitting gym shorts. There’s a towel wrapped around his head and he pushes his suitcase back into the hallway with one foot. He sees you and presses his lips together, his steps falter. You pat the cushion beside you; he walks barefoot over to you and sits down. You sit in silence watching Tom Cruise walk in slow motion.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” You flick your eyes over to him; he’s still staring at the television.

“I’m going to kill Ginger.” His features lighten slightly.

“I thought you might. I still feel bad, I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.” He turns his head; his pale, blue eyes are locked with yours.

“You have no reason to feel bad, what are you even talking about? This is my fault. I’m the reason that you’re in this mess.” His eyebrows are pulled together.

“It was three messy cunts at a bar, Brian.” You say sternly.

“Don’t even act like you didn’t see everyone else looking, too. Not to mention social media, all Trixie complains about now is you stealing her spotlight.” You lower your gaze and pull at your earring, you don’t speak. “If this is too much for you, I understand. You need to take care of yourself before anyone else.” He says miserably and casts his eyes to the floor.

“No.” You say quickly your eyes cut back up to his. “It’s not too much... It’s... New.”

“I know the feeling.” He shifts so one leg is up on the couch and the other is dangling off the side. His arm is wrapped around the back of the couch almost touching your shoulder.

“You just confuse me sometimes.” You mirror his actions and turn to fully face him.

“I get that a lot. I confuse myself. I haven’t been able to really figure myself out... Not since the accident.” He croaks in his Maureen voice. You giggle at him and his eyes sparkle. The movie plays on in the background.

 _Hey, Goose, you big stud!_  
_That’s me, honey._  
_Take me to bed or lose me forever._  
_Show me the way home, honey._

“Is that a sign from God?” He flashes his pearly whites at you and you roll your eyes. You push your hands into his chest and he chuckles.

“Yes, our lord and saviour Tom Cruise is beckoning to you.” You smile shyly and his eyes wander down your figure. Your face flushes.

“You should obey the lord you know.”

“Yes, nothing gets me hotter than the bible.” You scrunch up your nose.

“That’s called being a Catholic.” His hand slides down and he brushes his slender fingers across your shoulder. You chew on the inside of your cheek, his hand travels across your shoulder to rest on your neck.

You let him pull you in by the back of your neck and your eyes close when your lips touch. Your heart is so full it could burst. His soft lips are moving gently across yours and his thumb is stroking the back of your neck. You lean into him reaching your hand up to rest on his jaw. His other hand strokes the small of your back and he smiles into the kiss. You suckle at his bottom lip and he sighs applying more pressure to the back of your neck. His plump lips press a few more kisses to your mouth before pulling away.

You’re lightheaded and your blood is boiling through your veins when you look up at him. There’s a sweet smile on his face and his piercing, blue eyes are trained on you. The hand at the back of your neck slides down your jaw to grasp your chin.

“You kiss better than my dad.” His voice is hoarse and his lips are swollen. You push against him and he falls back taking you with him. He readjusts so his head is propped up on a pillow; he tucks one arm behind his head and leaves the other one stroking your back. Your head is lying on his chest; you can hear his slow, deep breaths moving through his chest cavity, feel the gentle rise and fall of his diaphragm. You sigh and bring one hand up to rest on his peck. His long legs are spread out on either side of you.

You both turn your attention back to the TV; you reach across and snag the chips from the table. He’s entranced by Tom Cruise and his hand gropes blindly up your arm to reach into the bag.

“It’s a shame they didn’t make Top Gun eight.” He mutters around a mouthful of chips and you laugh at him. His hand reaches down and gropes back up your arm, instead of going to the bag his fingers interlace with yours and squeezes gently. You feel him sigh.


	6. La Petit Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18+ for smut

The sun beaming in from the window gets disrupted sporadically; the flashing light pulls you from your sleep. Your back is tight and you stretch groggily before opening your eyes. You’re still on the couch with a sheet draped over you. Brian is standing in front of the patio door with his purple yoga mat rolled out under him. He has one leg stretched up over his head holding onto his calf with both hands. He’s completely still and breathing so deeply that you can hear his breath blowing out through his nose. He’s naked except for a pair of baggy, grey shorts. His ivory skin is shining in the pink light of the rising sun.

He’s so intensely focussed on his pose that he doesn’t move when you get off the couch. You try to be as quiet as possible. You tiptoe to the bedroom to put on underwear since you hadn’t put any on last night. You settle for a purple thong and head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The coffee maker sputters to life and you flinch cutting your gaze to him. He lowers his leg gracefully and turns around.

“Sorry.” You whisper with a guilty grimace. He’s smiling brightly at you and pads over, stretching his arms over his head. His skin pulls tight over the muscles in his chest, his forehead glistening with sweat. He crosses his arms on the island and leans against it.

“You’ll be sorry alright, Barbara.” He croaks, you smile and turn to grab two mugs from the shelf, you balance on your toes to grab them and your shirt rides up. When you turn back to him you notice that he’s staring at you and chewing his bottom lip. You blush and grab the pot of coffee.

“Did you, uh, did you want some?” You manage awkwardly; he snaps out of his trance and looks into your eyes. He folds his hands under his chin.

“Only if you have, like, unsweetened, organic, soy milk heated to a hundred and sixty-three degrees with, like, a half of a pump of sugar-free butter pecan syrup and a Splenda.” He says in his Valley Girl voice.

“I have almond milk and a boot that can go up your ass?” You pour out a cup for him and push it across the counter. His fingers brush against yours as he takes the mug from you.

“Sounds kinky, I’m in.” He winks at you, your heart spirals into a manic mess and you avert your eyes. You pull the carton from the fridge and pass the sugar bowl and a spoon. You take your coffee black again; you still have a lot of work to do for Morgan today. He fixes his drink and you arch your back trying to alleviate some of the tension in your muscles.

“I’m fuckin’ sore. I hate sleeping on the couch.” You groan and pick up your cup taking a careful swig. He takes a drink and sets his mug back down.

“Maybe I can help?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, “I’m trained to teach yoga, it does wonders for strung-out soccer moms.”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” You shrug and take another sip.

“Well you could tear a ligament and fall on your head paralyzing you from the neck down.” He smiles with a tilt of his head.

“Awesome, if there’s a possibility of dying, I’m in.” You set your cup down and walk around the island. He stands up and leads you by the hand to the patio door. He squeezes your fingers slightly and brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, you feel dizzy. He points to the mat.

“Lay down on your back,” you obey and stare up at him, from this angle you can almost see up the leg of his shorts and you feel a twinge in your stomach. “Good, so we’re just going to do some stretches, bring your knees to your chest and rock,” you follow his instructions as he leads you through a series of stretches. You end up lying on your front and breathing shallowly, listening to his bare feet tap against the hardwood.

“So now just plant your hands and your feet and push yourself up into a V shape.” He speaks softly, slipping into an instructor demeanor, you do as he asks, “Good, this is downward dog, just pull your hips a little further up and back.” He places his hands on your hips and guides them up; you can feel your ass press into his stomach. You feel your face starting to heat up.

“Okay, now step one foot forward into a lunge,” you follow, already feeling some of the tightness dissipate. “Arch your back up, here.” His strong hands are on you again, pressing into your lower back and gently pulling your arms up behind your head. “This is warrior one, it’s excellent for the back and legs.” He guides you through a few more before coming to a final pose.

“Last one, I promise. We’re going to do Vriksasana; Tree Pose.” He says quietly, he’s standing behind you and you can feel his breath against your neck, a shiver runs up your spine. “So just stand and lift one leg.” You stand on one foot and wobble, his hands catch your waist and he holds you still. “Good, lift your arms overhead and press your palms together. Now bring your foot to rest on your thigh and turn your knee out.” He wraps a hand around your ankle and positions your foot higher. His hand brushes against your panties and you tense up losing your balance again. He wraps his arm around your middle and holds your back to his chest.

“You’re doing good, Y/N.” His lips are right behind your ear you let out a shaky breath. His fingers trail down your thigh and press your knee out to the side. They slowly run back up the inside of your thigh and rest on your waist, “Just like that.” His body is pressed flush to your back; you can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest and his hip bones digging into your ass.

“You’re a very good student.” His breath runs down your neck and you bite your lip, his hands rub up and down your waist. You let out a sigh and he moves his body away from you but keeps his hands on your waist.

“Carefully put your leg back down on the floor.” You lower your leg. You have to admit that you feel a million times better some of it may be from Brian’s hands on you but the yoga did help. He turns you around by the waist and smiles wide, “Better?”

“Still a little tight” You quip trying to ignore the tingling between your legs.

“I would hope so.” He catches his tongue between his teeth and raises his eyebrows. You giggle at him and press your hands to his chest to shove him away. His fingers only press harder into your sides to prevent you from pushing him away.

“Speaking of tight,” he purrs and pulls you closer, your face heats up again when you stare into his pale eyes. “I need to squeeze my boxes in here.”

“There’s only one package that I’m interested in.” You whisper seductively, he seems taken aback and presses a hand to his chest.

“Are you flirting with me, Mother?” He croaks and raises an eyebrow.

“You tell me, Linda.” You smile and pat his chest, “Just place your things wherever you can for now and we’ll sort through them later. Are you moving today?”

“I have some friends who are bouncers that are offering to help me but they’re only available today. I’m so frail I can’t possibly do it on my own.” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead and swoons. You laugh at him and step away. He walks over to his suitcase beside the couch and pulls out a grey t-shirt sliding it over his head. You feel saddened by losing the view of his naked chest. His phone buzzes against the coffee table and he leans down to pick it up.

“They’re actually here now.” He peers out the patio door and turns around. He snags his wallet, a lighter, and a pack of smokes out of his bag. “Think of me while I’m gone.” His free hand brushes along your arm and stays outstretched as he backs into the hallway.

“I’ll never forget you.” You whisper longingly holding your hand out to him.

“You better not.” He warns and he blows a kiss at you before shutting the door. You sigh and stare at the closed door for a few seconds. You shake your head to come out of your stupor.

You pad to the kitchen and grab a Red Bull from the fridge popping the top while you head to your workroom. Morgan’s green skirt is draped over the sewing machine and you sigh. It’s only halfway done not including all the hand stitching that needs to be done. It’s projects like this that make your job exciting and keeps you on your toes but at the same time the amount of work makes it seem like a daunting task. You settle in and start tacking the large ruffles into place on the back of the skirt.

Your laptop chirps from the living room and you dart out to pick it up off the island in the kitchen. You open it in your arms returning to the sewing table. A handful of emails are coming in requesting work from you; when it rains it pours and you’ll be making a considerable amount of money in the next month. You’re so glad that you moved to West Hollywood, your income has at least doubled with your new location and it makes you giddy. You scan through some of the messages before stopping at a familiar name. It’s Ongina: whenever she commissions it’s always a big project, you swallow uneasily.

After a few returned emails and an online consultation you finalize an order from Ongina. She needs a white to pink ombre ball gown with a high neckline. With the amount of fabric needed you have to go to your supplier to pick out some textiles. You’ve been meaning to get out there anyway because your regular supplies are dwindling significantly. You sigh knowing that it’ll be an expensive trip; you can hear your wallet crying at you from the hallway.

You figure that Brian will be gone for quite some time still and you have work to get done; you can’t afford to wait for him to come back. You shoot him a text and leave a spare key under the doormat in the hallway before locking up and taking off.

The warehouse always seems like a vortex to you, time and money have no connotation while your run your fingers over the different textiles. All kinds of weights, colours, and textures, it’s your happy place. You peruse every aisle, the shopping cart slowly filling with each pass. You make sure to buy a massive stockpile of Rit in every shade. You end up leaving with four full bolts of fabric: one for Ongina’s outfit, a shimmery iridescent spandex, a shiny, black four-way stretch, and a blue to green reversible sequin fabric. All four of them you know for a fact will be used; you only buy twenty yards each of the other fabrics that you’re unsure of. To your surprise you only spend a couple grand which is a miracle.

When you step outside again you check your phone; you’ve been shopping for four hours. Thankfully, your Uber is a minivan and he’s kind enough to help you lug the rolls of fabric into the back of his vehicle. You text Brian:

_‘Can you come downstairs? I have a surprise for you.’_

_‘I don’t know...the last person that said that to me was my uncle.’_ You snort at that, the driver turns his head to look at you and you smile awkwardly.

_‘You’re fucking sick. I have a long, thick rod that needs your attention.’_

_‘I’m coming. Literally.’_

When your car turns the corner Brian is already standing out on the front step; he’s leaning against the building puffing away at a cigarette. You hop out of the car and sweep your hand to the trunk in a grand gesture; he takes a peek and gives you an exasperated look.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you, Barbara?” He says flatly with the cigarette pinched between his lips.

“I need a big, strong man in my life. Unfortunately, he never showed up so you’ll have to do.” You shrug your shoulders with a smile. He rolls his eyes and crushes the smoking butt under his runner.

Brian manages to carry two bolts at a time to the front door and you grab the massive bags of loose fabric. Before you can turn to help him with the other two bolts he’s already on his way back. The muscles in his arms are pulled taut and you can see the definition of his biceps as he carries the bolts through the door. It’s quite the fiasco but when you finally manage to get all the fabric up the elevator and to your apartment door you’re both exhausted.

He opens the door for you and flashes his brilliant smile. His face is flushed, his thin, grey t-shirt is clinging to his chest with sweat and his dirty blonde hair is matted to his forehead. You curtsy with the bags in hand and shuffle to your workroom; you throw them under the sewing table too tired to bother sorting them now. He’s so spent that you have to help him carry the rolls one at a time and lean them up in the corner. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath. Brian’s leaning against one of your shelving units pouring sweat.

“You look like a fucking water fountain.” You manage between deep breaths. You swipe your hand across your forehead and slowly stand back up on shaky legs.

“That’s because I’m so wet for you, Barbara.” He moans in an exaggerated porn voice, “I’m so wet.” He runs his hands over his body and gives another loud moan before breaking out into a bout of laughter.

“Jesus Christ.” You shake your head and giggle walking past him. You try to play it cool but your body betrays you; even with him joking around you still feel your core twinge. “Do you want a Red Bull?” You call over your shoulder pulling two cans out of the fridge knowing the answer even before he responds. He saunters out of your workroom stretching out his shoulders you hold it out to him and he takes it from you. He flashes his gleaming teeth and downs half of it at once.

“You’re going to have a heart murmur.” You comment and take a sip of your drink.

“I already do.” He chuckles manically and drums his fingers against the can with a crazed look.

You peer around the room; your place looks like a storage locker with ceiling to floor boxes stacked along the sides of the couch and by the patio doors. Your gaze returns to him and he has a worried look on his face, he’s turning the can in his hand anxiously.

“It’s mostly clothes, I’m sorry if it’s too much, I-” He begins but you cut him off holding up your hand.

“I hate it when people tell me this but I’m going to say it anyway: stop worrying. We’ll fix this.” You feel your heart stutter from anxiety. _You shouldn’t have used the word ‘we’, there is no ‘we’, well...maybe if he wants it. Does he even want it? Will there be a ‘we’?_ To your surprise his face lights up with a smile.

“I like that. We’ll fix it.” He nods thoughtfully, “I already managed to put some things away while you were out, so.” You smile but begin to feel uncomfortable; you can feel the sweat cooling on your shirt making you feel clammy.

“I have to get out of these clothes, I feel like I just won the world’s grossest wet t-shirt contest.” You try to pluck the shirt off of your stomach to alleviate the sickening cling of the fabric. He wheezes laughter before speaking again.

“I don’t think so. Clearly I would have won.” He gropes his chest and sways his hips, “Pamela Anderson eat your heart out.” You laugh out loud and down the rest of your Red Bull making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” He calls after you; you turn around and throw your hands in the air dramatically.

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going?” You say shaking your head with your eyebrows raised.

“Aren’t you taking me with you?” He pouts, again, you know that he’s joking but you can’t help but let your mind wander.

“In your wildest dreams maybe.” You roll your eyes. _In my wildest dreams._

“You never let me do anything fun!” He stomps his foot like a child and crosses his arms over his chest.

“My house my rules, young man.” You point your finger at him before shutting the door to the bathroom.

“I’m not actually that young but I do love a good mommy kink.” You hear him from out in the hallway. You peel the dirty clothes off your body and kick them into the corner.

While you shower you think about him. You think about how he kissed you last night, how his eyes sparkle when he looks at you. Trixie’s voice echoes in your head: _‘She really likes you._ ’ You think of the way his shirt was clinging to his chest, the muscles pulling in his arms as he lifted the rolls of fabric. How his lips part when he pants after moving all of your supplies. You wonder if that’s when his face would look like if he was on top of you.

You rub your scented body soap over your skin, giving your breasts a little more attention. Your eyes slide shut: _how would his mouth feel against your neck, his hands exploring your body with his lips against your throat. Would he be rough with you? Would he fuck you in drag?_ The thought of it makes you weak in the knees and you feel yourself getting wet. Your hands slip down your stomach and rest between your legs, you bite your lip as you rub your clit. You can almost feel how his slender fingers would wander across your body. His two fingers parting your folds, his mouth hanging open with his breath running across your face.

“Should I call an ambulance?” You nearly jump out of your skin, your heel slides against the slick floor of the tub and you catch yourself against the wall of the shower.

“What- Why?” You stutter in a panic.

“You’re taking so long! Your shower has a detachable head on it, Mother. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” He jests from behind the door in his Maureen voice. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Leave me alone!” You snap out of your daze and take a moment to collect yourself. “You’re interrupting my Danny Devito fantasy!” You call out to him you can hear him spiralling into a fit of laughter. You try to wash the soap off of your body as quickly as possible, your hands shaking and your face burning bright red. You shut off the water and dry your hair taking a look in the mirror to check for any signs of guilt on your face. You wrap a purple towel around your torso and open the door.

Brian is reclined on the couch with his feet crossed on the coffee table remote in hand flicking through the channels. His eyes flick to you as he takes you in.

“Very nice, very slim-fitting; it accentuates your curves. If it comes in pink I’m sure Trix would buy it from you.” He snickers, and crosses his legs the other way stretching his one arm behind his head.

“This is way too rich for Trixie’s blood, I assure you.” You quip and start to walk into your bedroom keeping your eye contact with him. Once you enter your room you scream and stumble back into the hallway.

“What the fuck, Brian?!” You screech and cut your eyes to him; you almost drop your towel and slap one hand to your chest hearing your heartbeat in your ears. He jumps up from the couch when you scream and grimaces guiltily.

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal, I had nowhere to put them.” He whispers and cautiously approaches you. You dart your head back and forth between him and your bedroom. Your eyes burn into his scared face, he’s wringing his hands uneasily.

You take a deep, shaky breath before slowly entering your room again. You take a look around at the walls. There’s taxidermy animals tacked up everywhere: squirrels with hats, a wolf’s head with a flower crown placed on top of it, a salmon perched on a piece of driftwood, a huge eight-point buck, badgers and other furry animals that you couldn’t recognize. Above your bed is a Great White Owl with its wings spread and talons outstretched in mid-hunt. Taking a second look it’s not as scary but it’s still an unsettling sight.

He’s drumming his fingers against his thigh when you turn back around to face him. You throw up a hand and gesture around the room with a questioning look.

“When I said put your things wherever you can I didn’t have this in mind, Bri’.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I was confused by the assignment.” He offers a light joke with a guilty face.

“Alright, Sasha Belle.” You say with a resigned slump of your shoulders.

“I just didn’t think that you wanted them in the living room...” He takes a step towards you.

“And turning my bedroom into the hunting lodge from Twin Peaks is less creepy?” There’s an excited spark in his eyes but he quickly hides it again.

“I can take them down right away.” He starts towards the wolf head.

“It’s fine for now,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “I just need you to get out while I change; you can do your other unpacking.” You try not to sound too upset and offer a light smile; seeing him so crushed makes your heart hurt. He smiles back and turns out into the hallway, he disappears into the bathroom with a towel and you hear the shower turn on.

You look around again and shake your head. You look into the glassy eyes of the buck on the wall while your pull on a shirt and some pants and shiver. You get out of your room as quickly as possible and return to your sewing room. It’s a mess now from your shopping trip and you start to place the loose fabrics in their rightful place. You settle back down in front of your machine and start to hand stitch the hem of Morgan’s green skirt.

The shower shuts off and Brian appears in the doorway. There’s a towel wrapped around his head and another one tucked around his waist. His chest is glistening with water; you can’t stay mad at him.

“I have a gig tonight at Flaming Saddles.” He offers with a tilt of his head. You consider going but with the immense workload that’s been dropped on you by Ongina you shake your head sadly.

“Ongina needs a ball gown and I got five more requests today, plus this fucking thing.” You hold up Morgan’s unfinished whisk collar and shake it in frustration. His shoulders slump slightly at your answer, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I get it; you’re abandoning me. I’m not good enough for you anymore.” He throws the back of his hand over his head and leans his back against the jamb dramatically.

“Shut up, you’ve been walking this path long before I came around for moral support.” You throw a spool of shiny, green thread at him; he catches it and turns it over in his hands thoughtfully.

“Yes, and it was a lonely road...filled with cum.” He tosses it back to you.

“Oh my god, get out of my station, you’re so disgusting.” You scoff and turn back around to your sewing machine. He cackles as he walks away.

The time flies by as you progress efficiently through Morgan’s outfit. You’re doing the finishing touches when you hear heels on the hardwood again. You throw a casual glance over your shoulder and have to do a double take. She’s wearing a pink and silver sequined crop top and a matching pair of pants with her Atomic Blonde wig and a pair of black pumps. She runs her fingers through her hair and pops her hip to the side; you can see her toned stomach flexing as she moves.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come get this pussy?” She purrs and runs her tongue over her teeth. Your heart flutters and your core tightens; she makes a very good argument but can’t put off your work any longer.

“I can’t, Katya. I really want to but I can’t come.”

“So you’re edging yourself then?” She winks and catches her tongue between her teeth. You want to stand up and jump her right now. You can barely contain yourself when she’s in drag; she gets so sexual that it makes you feel like you’re going to burst into flames. You clear your throat and pull yourself reluctantly from your daydream.

“If Morgan murders me then you’ll have no chance of fucking me.”

“So narrow-minded,” she tuts and shakes her head in disappointment. “There’s more than one way to fuck a cat...is that how that saying goes?”

You scream with laughter and lean back in your chair kicking your legs in the air, she joins you and flails her arms. After your fit you wipe tears from your eyes.

“I should be back around ten. It’s an early one, thank fucking Christ.” She starts to walk out and stops, “Oh! Here I forgot to give this back.” She tosses the spare key to you and you shake your head throwing it back.

“Keep it.” Her hands clasp over her heart and she sighs.

“You’re taking our relationship to the next level?” She turns and tucks the key into her suitcase behind her; you stare longingly at her perky ass as she bends over. Her hips sway as she pulls the zipper shut; your teeth catch your bottom lip. She stands again and you quickly return your eyes to her face.

“Mommy’s gotta go, there’s money on the counter for pizza, don’t turn on the stove, and don’t open the door for strangers, okay?” She chastises you playfully.

“Well in that case give me the key back.” You smirk.

“Bitch.” She hisses and turns on her heel with her rolling luggage in tow. You hear the front door open, “See you tonight!” The door clicks shut and the key wiggles in the lock before snapping into place. You sigh wistfully and return to the sea of green on your table.

It takes another hour to finish up the garment. You pull the lacing through the eyes down the front of the top and slide the finished product onto the mannequin that’s adjusted to her measurements. You squeal and bounce up and down excitedly. It’s these moments that make your job worth it; it fits perfectly and looks stunning. You snap a few pictures and send them to Morgan. The thrill fades again when you remember the ball gown that’s up next on the roster.

You study the design that you sketched for Ongina and start making your patterns. It takes you a while to finish and you take a break to eat, you suppress your urge to open up a Red Bull when you look at the clock on the microwave. It’s already eight in the evening; you settle for a sugar high and open a pop. You run a few dye tests in your sink and let them develop while you cut out your pattern on some smocking fabric in the other room.

Your timer goes off for your dyes and you stand shakily with your back protesting your movements. You sigh and crack the joints in your spine. Your apartment is pitch-black and you peer at the clock again: eleven PM. Katya crosses your mind while you wring out your pieces and rinse them thoroughly. She should be home by now, your eyebrows knit together as you hang your tests up to dry. You yawn and stretch and try to let it go. She’s probably hanging out with the other queens at the bar.

You decide to turn in for the night and pad to your bedroom. When you flick the light on you yelp again totally forgetting about the parade of dead things nailed to your wall. You undress and pull on the same Morgan t-shirt you wore last night kicking your thong off with your foot. You gain some pleasure that you manage to toss it into the laundry basket with your toes. You shut the light off again and it eases your discomfort since you can’t see the taxidermy anymore.

You crawl under the covers and turn onto your stomach, the screen of your phone lights up your face as you scroll through your emails and Twitter feed. A bubble drops down from the top of the screen: _New Message: Ginger Bitch._ You open the text:

_‘Can somebody turn on a light?’_ You narrow your eyes trying to figure out what she meant.

_‘What?’_

_‘Because you left me in the dark. I haven’t heard from you all day, what’s going on?’_

_‘I talked it out with her last night. She’s fine. It took a while but she’s better now.’_

_‘So...you’re saying that I was right?’ You grimace knowing that you’ll never hear the end of this._

_‘Fine, yes. You were right all hail the mighty Minj. Can we drop it now?’_

_‘Did you fuck yet?’_ Your face burns a bright red, _‘Cee Jay wants to know, not that I care or anything.’_ You know that was a lie, the nosey bitch.

_‘No!’_

_‘And how are we feeling about that?’_

_‘Take a breather, Dr. Phil, we only kissed.’_

_‘What the fuck? She kissed you and then didn’t fuck you? Are you lying to me because that sounds like bullshit.’_

_‘Alright, moving on now. I finished Morgan’s outfit did you wanna see?’_

_‘That was a shitty attempt at changing the subject. Where is she now?’_

_‘Flaming Saddles. She was supposed to be back an hour ago.’_

_‘I’m not surprised. She’s so chatty. So? How is it with her in your space all the time? I can barely stand her for a few hours.’_

_‘You never lied so much in your life. It’s good, she moved most of her shit in today.’_

_‘Wow, you guys move faster than a lesbian couple on speed!’_ You bury your face in your pillow and scream laughter kicking your legs under the covers.

_‘That was funny but fuck you.’_

_‘Maybe instead of fucking me you should fuck someone else.’_

You hear a key jam into the lock on the front door and jump.

_‘Katya’s back now. I gotta go. Night, Ging.’_

_‘Go get her, you filthy lesbian.’_ You snort and prop yourself up to look into the hallway. The light from outside the apartment streams into the hallway and you see her shadow stretched out on the hardwood before the door closes again.

“You’re late, Linda.” You call to her, the light turns on and you hear her shoes thump against the wall as she kicks them off. She appears in your doorway with her wig tousled, her eyes are half-lidded, “What the fuck happened to you?” You push yourself up into a sitting position.

“Nothing, ‘m fine, just tired.” She sways and catches herself on the doorjamb. You narrow your eyes at her and scan her body, she looks fine and there’s nothing out of place besides her wig. She disappears from your sight and the bathroom door shuts. The shower sputters to life. You keep yourself awake and listen carefully to make sure that she’s okay while she showers. You browse Twitter until you hear the water shut off, you lay your phone on your lap and wait.

He’s naked except for a pair of red Marco Marco briefs. His feet are dragging against the floor while he heads to the couch.

“Brian,” he stops and stands in your doorway, he seems better and his face looks brighter but his eyes are still struggling to stay open. “This taxidermy is really freaking me out.”

“I can get it right now if you want.” He mumbles with a kind smile.

“No, you’re too tired, you’re going to break something; like yourself.” You twist your hands in your lap anxiously. “I was thinking maybe you could stay with me, just for tonight, it’s less scary having someone here...” You whisper, grateful that he can’t see the blush staining your cheeks.

“Are you sure? I mean, if it’ll help you sleep better.” He whispers scratching the back of his neck and shifting his weight from side to side.

“Just tonight until the dead things are gone.” You pat the spot beside you.

“I’m gunna go put a shirt on-” he starts to back out of your room.

“No...I mean... It’s fine, the bed is big enough, it’s okay.” You interrupt him quickly and feel your heart in your throat, you pat the bedside again.

You feel the bed dip as he sits down on the edge. The covers ruffle as he lies down as far away from you as possible turning his back to you. You chew your lip and snuggle into the bed ever so slightly moving yourself closer to him. He must be absolutely exhausted because he starts snoring after a minute; you listen to him breathe for a while and drift off to sleep.

You’re woken up by the bed shaking, you crack open your eyes to see Brian tossing and turning. Your eyes take a moment to adjust, you open your mouth to say something and realize that he’s completely asleep. He turns and moves until he’s right next to you on his side, his face inches from yours.

“I don’t know how this is going to work, Trix’.” He mumbles in his sleep, you stay still and listen intently.

“Yeah, I get it, I just don’t know what to say... Shut the fuck up. I’m serious, this is new for me. What do I do? You’re the queen of lasting relationships... We didn’t fuck, stop it. Why? I don’t know why. I don’t wanna fuck this up... I know, I said this was weird... Don’t look at me like that.” He rolls onto his back and you flinch, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You hang on the silence hoping to hear more of his dream. Nothing comes; you roll onto your back and drift off again.

The second you’re almost asleep again you hear him. He sighs; you turn your head and smile at him. His breathing picks up and his chest starts to heave, you become worried and reach your hand out to touch him.

“Y/N...” You hold your breath and withdraw your hand. His head turns from side to side, his soft lips are parted. You watch him with bated breath. He sighs again, “Y/N.” He moans softly, your heartbeat falters and you suck in a sharp breath. He’s silent again but his chest is still heaving, his head turns to face you and you can feel his breath against your face.

He groans and starts to pant. Your core tightens you press your knees together and try to calm your heavy breathing. His moans get louder and more frequent, his back arches off the bed slightly.

“Yes, lyubimets.” He groans loudly, his hands fisting in the sheets, “ _Harder_.” He gasps and his hips buck off the bed. Your breathing is becoming ragged now as you watch him intensely; you can feel yourself becoming painfully aroused. He cries out softly and his jaw falls slack. He arches his neck and growls.

“Fuck me, Y/N.” Your nerves spark like livewires and you let out a soft moan unconsciously. You panic for a second and lay still; he’s still deep in sleep despite your noise. He bucks his hips again and you can see his length pressing up against the sheets.

You rub your thighs together to try and get some release from the heat burning between your legs. Your breathing is coming out louder but it’s drowned out by his constant groaning. You slowly let your hand snake down your body, you spread your legs. Your other hand lifts your shirt up and starts to caress your breast. You feel a guilty pinch in your heart but you figure there would be no harm done since he seems like he can sleep through an earthquake.

“Ya khochu tebya tak mnogo, trakhni menya.” His face is turned towards you and he’s moaning brokenly grinding his hips into the air. You bite your lip hard to stifle a moan and start to massage your clit, your eyes roll back and you buck into your hand. You’re so sensitive and starved for his touch that you gasp. He moans your name again and you throw your head back into the pillow curling your toes. You open your legs wider and pinch your nipple, your fingers slide between your folds and tease your entrance. You arch you back and start panting.

“Yes, detka! More!” He cries, his hand goes to grab the sheets again but it lands on your naked stomach. You jump from the contact and gasp loudly. His fingers dig into your flesh and start to stroke your ribs. You moan softly as the fear dissipates, he’s still deep in sleep as he runs his fingers across your hipbones. You plunge your fingers into your entrances and grind your palm against your clit; you see stars and squeeze your breast hard.

Your head is thrown back as you pant heavily. You imagine what it would be like to make him make those sounds, to have him moving against you, thrusting into you. Your eyes roll back and you press your fingers further into yourself. You can feel your core tighten and you bite your lip.

You feel his hand move away from you and come to the sickening realization that he hasn’t been making any noise for some time. You freeze and flick your eyes over to him. He’s staring at you chewing his bottom lip his pale eyes burning in the darkness. Ice water floods your stomach and you yank your hand from between your legs, you mouth goes dry. He doesn’t speak; he’s breathing shallowly looking at you, his lips part after a moment.

“Do you want help?” His voice comes out gravelly, he turns onto his side to face you. You’re breathing erratically with adrenaline pumping through your veins. He speaks again, “Do you want me to help you, Y/N?” You part your lips to try and speak but you can’t, you nod slowly.

His hand reaches out to rest on your stomach again; his touch burns a hole into your nerves. His hand slides up under your shirt slowly, his eyes are trained on your face as he moves. He wets his lips and his breath hitches when he reaches your breast. You heave a lustful sigh when his hand cups your breast; his slender fingers pinch your nipple and twist gently. You let out a soft moan and he bites his lip, his breath picking up the pace again.

Your hand moves to rest on the side of his face and you pull him in close to you. He stares into your eyes longingly before closing the distance between the two of you. His thumb brushes over your nipple as he kneads your breast, you run your tongue across his lip and he opens his mouth. You press your tongue against his and he moans. The kiss deepens and you bite his bottom lip making him growl. He pushes up and then lowers himself on top of you; you spread your legs for him. You get a head rush and moan when you feel his length press against your mound. You reach both hands up to caress his face; he smiles at you and captures your lips again. Your fingers run through his soft, dirty blonde hair as his tongue presses into your mouth.

He starts to move, grinding his cock against you and you dig your fingernails into the back of his neck. He groans and pushes harder into you. You wrap your legs around his waist and grind yourself into him. His breath hitches and his mouth descends on your neck biting into the soft flesh, you gasp brokenly and rake your nails up his back. You can feel the precum soaking his briefs as he rocks his hips into you. He bites down harder and you arch your back.

“Fuck me, Brian.” You moan into his ear, his movements falter and he brushes his hand against your face. He kisses you deeply once more before pushing himself off of you. Your eyebrows knit together in frustration; he bites his lip with a smirk and crawls down your body. He settles between your legs and pulls your legs up so they rest on his shoulders.

You breathe shallowly watching his every move, his blue eyes are burning up at you from between your legs and he slides his hands under your thighs stroking your hips. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before pressing kisses to your inner thighs, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. His tongue runs along the crease in your groin and he groans. Your back arches and your hands come to rest on the back of his head. He pinches the flesh of your thigh between his teeth and you gasp. He lets out a shaky breath through his nose and it brushes across your mound making your shiver.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip as you look down at him over your heaving chest. He runs the tip of his tongue between your slick folds starting from your entrance up to your clit. Your thighs shake and you moan softly. His lips come to rest on that bundle of nerves and he sucks gently while running his tongue across it. Your nails dig into the back of his head and you feel him smile against your mound. He pulls away and you whine in protest.

His tongue presses against your entrance teasing that tight ring of muscle. Your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly pushes his tongue inside of you. He moans as he tastes you and his fingers dig into your hips. He moves inside of you forcing as much of his tongue into you as he can before running his mouth back up to your clit. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue before closing his lips around it again. One hand moves from your hip and rests between your thighs. His finger presses gently against your entrance and you cry out. He sucks harder as he pushes into you curling his finger against your G spot.

“Brian, please. I need you so much.” You cry breathlessly bucking your hips into his face. He runs his tongue between your folds again before moving back up your body. He stops at your breasts and kisses them, sucking and biting at your nipples while you scrape your fingers across his back. He moans and thrusts against you; he kisses you hungrily and pushes his tongue into your mouth dominantly. He pulls your shirt over your head and lowers his face to your neck again trailing his teeth against your jaw. You lower one hand down his body and palm his stiff length through his briefs, he growls.

“Condom.” He moans into your neck. Your hand reaches and pries the drawer open on your bedside table. You grope desperately and close your fingers around the package. He hastily pulls his underwear off and throws them to the corner, your mouth waters looking at his sizable cock. He straddles you and slides it on with shaky hands. You clamp your fingers around his shoulders and yank him down on top of you. His fingers are in your hair while his tongue presses against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and buck your hips against him feeling his length parting your folds.

He lies between your thighs again and you hitch your legs up onto his hips. There’s silence between the two of you and only your heavy breathing can be heard in the dark. Your hands cup his face and you lean your head up to kiss him, his hand brushes your hair out of your face and he kisses you back.

“Ty takaya krasivaya.” He sighs softly; he reaches a hand between the two of you and guides himself to your entrance. You hold your breath and lock eyes with him, his mouth is hanging open, he slowly inches his way inside of you and you bite your lip at the stretching sensation. His hand rests against the side of your face and his thumb swipes gently across your cheek while he presses all the way into you. He stills inside of you and kisses you softly, you nod and he starts to rock into you.

His forehead presses against yours as he thrusts; you sigh and wrap your arms around his neck. His soft lips are parted as every breath comes out in a soft moan. You tighten your legs around him and position yourself for him to slide deeper into you. His breath hitches and he lowers his head to your neck. His tongue runs along your jugular vein before closing around it and sucking your skin. You gasp and buck your hips into him, he growls and bites into the flesh below your ear. He picks up the pace and you feel the bed start to move with you.

“Yes, Brian,” You sigh against his neck and he sucks harder on your neck; you’re certain there will be bruises in the morning. His hips plunge deeper into you and your nails dig into his back again while you let out a cry, “More!”

He jerks his head from your neck and crashes his lips into yours, you push your tongue into his mouth and he bites it. You yelp and pull back; he attacks you again and catches your lower lip between his teeth. You feel your stomach burning bright white as his cock bumps against the back of your core. With every thrust you let out a cry, you trail kisses down his neck and he sighs shakily. You sink your teeth into his shoulder and he moans loudly, he rocks his hips faster and harder until you are struggling to breathe.

You feel your climax coming and start to tighten around his length, your toes curl and your mouth falls open. He bites his lip and watches you through lidded eyes; he kisses you and whispers against your lips.

“Come for me, lyubimets.” His voice is rough and his breathing starts to become sporadic. “Pozvol’ mne pochuvstvovat’ tebya.” Hearing his Russian accent send you over the edge and you wrap your arms around his chest and pull yourself up to press flush against his body your whole body lights up with electricity and your clench around his throbbing cock.

“Oh, Brian! Fuck, I need you. I need you so bad, baby.” You scream against his chest while your thighs tremble against his hips. His thrusts become erratic and he’s grunting with every thrust, his forehead is against yours again as he pushes deeper into your convulsing core.

“Ty mne tozhe nuzhen, detka. Fuck, Y/N.” His fingers weave into your hair and he pulls you in for another bruising kiss, your tongue collide in a fight for power. You buck your hips and tighten around him again and his eyes roll back into his head. He throws his head back and thrust as deep as he can one last time before crying out your name. His shoulders tense and his whole body shakes, his hips thrust sporadically while he rides out his orgasms. He collapses on top of you with his face tucked into your neck while he catches his breath. You trace patterns in his back with your fingers and sigh softly. He finally flops over beside you with his face flushed.

You reach down and pull the condom off of him and toss it into the garbage can beside your bed.

“I think that condoms can go in the compost now.” He mutters with a smile, “Think about the children’s future, you selfish cunt.”

“I don’t really wanna think about children right after sex, thanks.” You giggle and turn your head to look at him. His pale eyes are sparkling at you and he leans over and kisses your lips softly.

“Well that wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, you were better than my dad and that’s saying something.” His voice is gravelly and his eyes are almost shut, he yawns.

“My expectations were pretty low and you almost beat them so I’m impressed.” You slap his shoulder and roll onto your side.

“As long as I was impressive, Mother.” He croaks in his Maureen voice with his eyes closed, his breathing already slowing. You fall over onto your stomach and lay across his chest resting on hand against his peck. His arm wraps around you and pulls you in tight and your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You nuzzle your face into his warm, pale chest and sigh with content. He’s snoring lightly but his grip on you doesn’t loosen. You look up at him and relish this moment: you watch the jumping of his jugular vein under his translucent skin, the sharp cut of his jaw falling slack as he sleeps, how soft his features are when he’s relaxed, the sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the moonlight pouring in from your window. You close your eyes and drape one leg across his hips before sleep takes you.


	7. Landslide

The rocking of the mattress brought you out of your dream. You open your eyes and see Brian trying to climb out of your grasp as gently as possible. He rolls onto his side and inches towards the edge of the bed; the pink light from the rising sun warming the pale skin of his back. You reach out and wrap your arm across his torso. He jumps and flops down on his back clutching his chest with one hand.

“Almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” He whispers in a gravelly voice. He turns his head to the side and fixes his gaze on you; his blue eyes are half-lidded with sleep.

“That would be a pretty easy feat considering you’re pushing eight-five.” You chuckle gruffly and pull yourself closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder pulling the sheets up to cover your naked body; you draw lazy patterns on his peck with your fingers.

“Now I’m never going to put you in my will, cunt.” When he speaks his lips brush against your hair.

“What would I inherit anyway? Even if I got half of your estate it would be half a pack of cigarettes and a colostomy bag.” You snuggle into him and wrap one leg around his waist.

“I take pride in my colostomy bag, okay? The boys love it; it’s an extra hole.” You slap his chest and he sends himself into a bout of cackling laughter kicking his legs under the covers. You giggle at him while your face bounces off of his chest as he laughs.

“Is that what you use to hit on men?” You snort and tilt your head up to look at him. His face is splotchy red from laughing so hard. He peeks down at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Of course! They can’t resist this pussy. ‘Hey, mister. Do you want a girl with a little something extra?’” He whispers seductively in a porn star voice, you burst out laughing.

“What are you laughing at? Don’t you want this Ziploc fantasy?” His voice gets louder and his pitch gets higher. He rolls over on top of you, his hands rest by the sides of your head and his legs are spread out on either side of your hips.

“Fill all my holes, baby! Get this secret stomach pussy!” He cries out with an exaggerated porno moan and immediately spirals into a fit of screaming laughter, “That’s so gross!” he wheezes. You’re howling and kicking your legs.

“Why are you like this?” You manage between fits of laughter, his arms give out from laughing so hard and he lands on top of you. He shift down so he can lay his face on your breasts, you rests your hands on the back of his head and run your fingers through his soft, blonde hair.

“It’s a medical mystery, Barbara. We may never know what truly happened.” You can smell stale cigarettes on his breath as he talks.

He spots something on your bedside table and does a double take. He props himself up on one arm and reaches over. He holds an empty pack of cigarettes, turning it in his hand: it’s the pack that he wrote his number on for you the first night you met. He smiles fondly and cuts his eyes to you.

“Why do you even have this? It’s trash.” He sits up on your hips and runs his thumb over the Sharpie on the box, you shrug dismissively.

“I have a habit of keeping garbage around.” You quip eyeing him cheekily.

“You would make for a great episode of Hoarders. I can see it now: ‘Lesbian Hoarders: More than Just an Excess of Pussy’.” He sweeps his hand grandly with a smile.

“You’re lucky it’s not recycling day.” He carefully places the cigarette pack back on the table and leans down so his forehead is pressed to yours.

“Mama, everyday is garbage day for me.” He whispers with a brilliant smile and you giggle. He kisses your lips softly and your eyes slip shut. Your hands come to rest on his jaw and you melt into him. His slender fingers caress your cheek and run through your hair as he smiles into the kiss. He pulls away with a sigh and you stare up at him rubbing your thumb against his cheek feeling his stubble already growing in.

“Last night was really great and I would like to do sex to your body again sometime. Sooner would be preferable and this is not a joke.” You go to laugh but his facial expression remains serious and you realize that he’s not joking.

“I agree, I should pencil you in for another appointment,” you pause and sigh, “Honestly, it’s been a while so I needed this.”

“I can tell,” you slap his chest with your mouth agape, “I’m just kidding!” He snatches your hand when you hit him and interlaces his fingers with yours. He rolls off of you with his arm around your waist and pulls you onto his chest when he lands on his back. You situate yourself between his legs and lay your face on his warm peck; his hand is still holding yours.

“What’s your deal, then? I know some things about you from interviews and the show, obviously... but I thought you were gay.”

“I thought I was but when I started looking closely I realized that I didn’t know who I wanted to be with. I mean, I’ve done lots of other things with women but I’ve never put my penis in a vagina.”

“You sound so clinical.” You laugh and rest your hand under your chin.

“I’m not a doctor but I am clinically depressed if that makes me qualified?” He runs his thumb across the back of your hand while he speaks, “Have you ever been with a man before?”

“I have... a few. It really depends on the person. It’s less about the container and more about the contents.” You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, your heart stutters.

“That reminds me of this one time I moved into a house that had a Nalgene bottle filled with piss on the bed when I got there. Is it like that?” He folds his free arm behind his head, you give him a look.

“Yes, you’re a bottle full of piss in a crack den.” You shake your head with a smile.

“Hey! It was a very nice crack den, so don’t knock it. I lived there for three years so you know that I can commit.” He says with an offended look on his face, his features soften after a moment and he pulls your hand up to his lips and mumbles against them while he speaks softly.

“Honestly, I love people not parts. I knew I would do it for a woman because I cared about them, I didn’t think that it would ever come to that, though.” You heart flutters in your chest and your face flushes deep red, he chuckles at you.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You resist the urge to break eye contact and just stare at him wistfully.

“It means what it means, Nancy Drew.” He flashes a breathtaking smile, you lean up to kiss his plump lips and your phone starts vibrating loudly on your bedside table. His pale eyes shift from you to the phone and back again. You wait a moment and the vibrating persists, you heave and irritated sigh and climb off of him reluctantly. You drag yourself to the edge of the bed and turn over your phone to glare at the screen: it’s Ginger. You growl and curse her for being a cock-blocker.

“What’s up?” You chime, it’s a habit of yours to always sound cheery on the phone, maybe it’s the years of working retail... It’s definitely the years of working retail.

“Hey, girl, I’m flying back to WeHo and I have today off; we should get together tonight! Oh fuck, it’s early there for you, isn’t it? I was just calling to chat, I want details on everythi-” She chirps.

“Yup! Alright, we should meet up!” You cut her off with a strained voice.

“What are you doing?” Brian hears Ginger’s gruff voice through your earpiece and pipes up.

“Me!” You whip your head around and burn a hole into his skull with your glower. _Ginger is going to eat this with a spoon_.

“Well hello, Brian.” She purrs in a mischievous tone, you pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, “You should put me on speaker phone, darling.” You begrudgingly obey.

“So how are things going with the move?” Her voice echoes off the walls of the bedroom.

“It’s official, now all that’s left is the marriage certificate.” Brian sits up cross-legged with his hands folded in his lap; he reaches over and takes the phone from you.

“I thought it was still illegal to marry dogs?” He starts wheezing laughter and flails, almost sending your phone flying.

“You’re such a cunt!” He manages breathlessly, you watch him with a smile on your face.

“So what was that little thing you said... something about ‘me’?” She purrs again, you shake your head to yourself.

“I said she was doing me. It was very nice, I enjoyed it.” He chimes and makes eye contact with you, you lunge at him to grab the phone out of his hand but he places a hand to your chest and holds it out of arm’s reach.

“That’s wonderful! Isn’t it wonderful, Y/N?”

“Yes it’s great, Ginger. We’ve got to go now.” You leap at the phone again and his hand gives way, you land with a huff on his chest and he starts to giggle.

You snatch the phone from his hand and bolt upright, “Goodbye, Ginger.” You say flatly.

“Use protection, you don’t know where it’s been!” She laughs out loud and you hang up on her. You drop the phone loudly on the nightstand and look up at the ceiling; the outstretched talons of the taxidermy owl take you off guard and you jump.

Brian’s strong arm wraps around your middle and he jerks you on top of him, you giggle and he squeezes you into a tight hug rocking back and forth. You feel his naked chest rising and falling against yours; you hug him back and close your eyes

“She’s never going to let this go now.” You mumble against his chest.

“Wait until Trixie hears about this, you’ve got it easy, Linda.”

“Oh god, Ginger’s such a chatty Kathy, even the New York queens are going to hear about it.” You grind your face into his peck.

“Are you ashamed?” His tone is serious; you tilt your head up to look at him with your brows knit together.

“Of course not. Why would you ask that?” You say in an upset tone, the air has shifted so abruptly that it takes you off guard. It scares you, to be honest.

“Just checking. Some people like to be discreet.” He sniffs and shifts his gaze away from you.

“Do you want this to be discreet?” Your heart sinks a little.

“No. I like you.” He states bluntly, you admire how up front he is with his feelings and it loosens the anxious vice wrapped your heart.

“I like you, too.” His eyes rest on you again and his facial features soften. You shift up to straddle him and give him a quick kiss.

“I have to go to work, Bri’.” You pat his chest and move to lift your leg over his body; his hand grabs your hips and forces you back onto his lap. You try to move again but his hand keeps you planted on top of him, you sigh and look down at him. The morning light is sparkling off of his blue eyes and he’s smiling up at you.

“Why don’t you work this pussy, Mom?” His slender hands are caressing your hips as he speaks; it sends shivers up your spine. You try to ignore that familiar pinch in your stomach but your face betrays you; you blush. His eyes flash triumphantly; he digs his fingers into your hips and drags them down the tops of your thighs.

“I have to have some discipline, you know? I can’t just stay here and not work. Ongina and Morgan would crucify me.” You don’t sound as resolute as you’d like to be and you curse yourself for it.

“You like discipline? I’ll show you discipline, kukla.” His eyes narrow with a smirk; he throws you onto your back and climbs on top of you. He rests between your legs and he has both of your wrists pinned above your head with one hand. Your heart is pounding in your throat and you squirm underneath him. He lets his hips lower and press into your thighs, his hand brushes up and down your side as he stares into your eyes.

He leans down and kisses you softly. His weight on your body causes a twinge in your core and you press your tongue into his mouth. He sighs into the kiss and massages your tongue with his; his fingers rake up your stomach and brush against your breast. You against his grip on your wrists wanting to touch him; you deepen the kiss. On the table, your phone starts to buzz rhythmically; you ignore it. He breaks the kiss and runs his lips down your jaw; you feel his quickened breath against your neck. You tilt your head to give him better access and he scrapes his teeth across the side of your neck making you moan softly. Your phone finishes its buzzing and is silent for a moment before starting its insistent vibrating again.

“Leave it.” He growls and bites down above your collarbone; you buck your hips and pull against his restraint on your wrists. His tongue runs along your jugular vein before he sucks a bruising kiss to your throat. His hips roll against yours and you gasp, he smiles against your neck and bites at your earlobe. You’re pulled out of your dreamy state by your phone which has sat on your bedside table making incessant noise for the last minute.

“Bri-” he nips your neck again and your breath hitches, “Brian, I have to get that.” His tongue runs up your jaw and he kisses you one last time before huffing and pulling away with a pout. He lets go of your wrists and sits back on his haunches with his hands in his lap. You dart over grabbing your phone and answering before checking the number.

“Hello, this is Y/N speaking. How may I help you?” You chirp, Brian is flashing an amused smile at you while you brush your hair out of your face.

“Hey, I’m sorry, you must be busy. I wouldn’t be bothering you if it wasn’t important.” A soft voice comes from the other end.

“Ongina! No no no, it’s fine! I’m sorry for not picking up sooner,” you narrow your eyes at Brian and he averts his gaze, “What’s up?”

“Well... I’m really sorry. The gala has been moved.” She says sheepishly, your heart sinks.

“How soon?” You ask in a deflated tone, his blue eyes meet yours again and he tilts his head.

“...Tomorrow night,” your heart falls out of your ass and your legs would have given out if you weren’t lying down, “I’m so sorry, if you can’t do it, it’s totally fine I’ll just wear something else. I have lots of other stuff to wear.” She spouts nervously.

“No,” you cut her off, “No, it’s fine, I mean, this gala is a big deal. I can do it. It’s a lot of work though, Ongina.”

“I’ll double the price.” She says definitively, your heart stops and then sparks into a raging fire.

“I’ll have it done by noon tomorrow.” The amount of work makes your head spin but the promise of a big ticket item helps ease the stress. You hear Ongina heave a sigh of relief on the other end.

“Thank you so much, you’re my main bitch. You know, I recommend you to everyone.” Her sweet tone makes you smile, Brian is still staring intensely at you trying to eavesdrop on your call but Ongina’s voice is so soft that even you are having a hard time hearing it.

“It’s what I do,” you say dramatically and then laugh, “But seriously, you’re one of my favourite clients, don’t tell Morgan for Christ’s sake. I got you, babe.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She gushes and you giggle at her.

“I have to let you go, the longer I talk to you the less time I have to work on this dress.”

“Okay, keep in touch, honey.” She chimes.

“I always do!” You sing sweetly and hang up the phone. Your smile immediately vanishes when your screen goes black and you slap a hand over your eyes.

“What was that?” He runs his pointer finger over the crease in your hip.

“Ongina needs her gigantic fucking dress made for tomorrow night,” you groan loudly and run your fingers through your hair, “She’s going to one of Raja’s fashion shows and it got rescheduled and now she’s out of lube so she’s ramming it in dry.”

You let out an irritated growl and sit up abruptly; it startles him and he rocks back on his heels. His eyes are piercing into yours and both of you are silent for a moment. He leans forward and wraps his arms around your shoulders pulling you into his chest. You can hear the steady beating of his heart and feel the warmth radiating off of his smooth chest. He rests his chin on the top of your head and gives your shoulders a squeeze.

You raise your arms and wrap them around his stomach, pushing your face harder into his peck. There’s a faint smell of body wash and sweat. His cool hand moves down and rubs at your spine and the small of your back. You can feel the tension in your brow fade and you take a deep breath, he moves so his cheek is resting on your head and he sighs. Your arms tighten around him and you squeeze your eyes shut relishing this moment.

“Just think of it as a blow job.” He mumbles into your hair, you pull back and give him a quizzical look. His hands slide down your shoulders and rest at the tops of your hips, there’s a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Quick and efficient. Just look on the bright side: you’re one of those expensive whores so your blow jobs must be good otherwise people wouldn’t pay for them.” He gives your hips a light pinch and wags his eyebrow at you.

“You’re right; I can get this dress done.” You smile with a slight nod, your shoulders relax and your jaw unclenches.

“Oh right, and your dresses are nice, too.” He quips, you push him and he almost falls backwards, he starts wheezing laughter and you join him. You clumsily move to the edge of the bed and get up on shaky legs.

You dig through your top drawer and pull out a tattered, old Ginger Minj t-shirt and slip it on; you don’t bother with underwear. You can’t help but feel a bit of shame for essentially living in a t-shirt all the time. Most days you don’t even bother changing at all. You consider putting effort into your ensemble since Brian lives here now but decide against it and shrug to yourself. Brian is just coming out of his fit when you turn back to face him. His legs are crossed and his hands are resting in his lap, his face is red from laughing so hard, it makes your heart ache.

“Money’s on the dresser now put some clothes on.” You run your finger under his jaw while you pass by and head to the kitchen.

“Oh honey, you can’t afford this.” He calls out to you and you giggle to yourself. Luckily for you Brian is an early bird and the clock on the microwave says that it’s only eight in the morning; you have plenty of time to work today. You skip coffee and go straight for the Red Bull, popping the tab and downing half the can right away.

“Do you want a funnel, Mother?” Brian is standing on the other side of the island in a pair of blue Marco Marco briefs his dirty blonde hair is sticking up in strange places.

“What I really need is a line of coke.” You joke and turn the can in your hands.

“You’re serious?” His eyes narrow intensely and he reaches a hand up to start scratching slowly at the inside of his forearm.

“Of course not!” You give him an exasperated look and throw your hand up.

“I was just kidding,” he says awkwardly with a small smile and leans against the island, he’s still scratching, “Great high but your hands will shake like crack-addled squirrel.”

You nod and study him before turning and grabbing him a Red Bull from the fridge. You pass it to him and he takes the can from you, his arm is beet-red where he was scratching. He stands up and leans over the counter to give you a quick kiss before snagging his smokes and a lighter off the island and heading to the patio.

It crosses your mind for a second that he turns on a dime sometimes; disturbingly fast regarding things that are jokes or don’t even really matter. However, you don’t know him very well, only what you’ve seen on TV and read in interviews. You’d have to ask Ginger and see if this is normal behaviour. A small voice in the back of your head asks if there’s a possibility that he may be on something again. You feel guilty for jumping to that conclusion and brush the thought away with some disgust for yourself.

You peek at him; he’s leaning against the railing swaying his hips back and forth as the smoke from his cigarette billows around him in the cool morning air. You let all of your disturbing suspicions go and head to your workroom.

All of your pieces are cut out of smocking fabric and strewn out on the table, you curse yourself for not keeping them organized and you begin to jigsaw them back together with pins. Out in the living room the patio door opens and shuts again, you can hear Brian’s bare feet padding against the hardwood and stop in your doorway. You spin in your chair with a mouth full of pins to look at him.

“Your tricks are blowing up your phone, Linda.” He says in his Maureen voice, he walks over and takes a seat on the end of your table. He crosses his legs and sets your phone down on your machine. You smile sweetly around the pins in your mouth and tack another one into the dress.

“I was gone for ten minutes and you already have a prick in your mouth. Is nothing sacred?” He crosses his arms and pouts; you can smell the fresh smoke on him. You cut him an unimpressed glance and hurriedly put the rest of the pins into the hem before letting the garment fall delicately into your lap.

“I’m just so depraved, I can’t help myself. Can’t you forgive me?” You clasp your hand together under your chin.

“No,” he snips and tosses his head to the side dramatically, “We’ve been growing apart. You didn’t come to my show last night and you won’t come tonight and now I find you with this spineless floozy.” He flicks a hand down at the dress in your lap.

“I work hard every day with this floozy so you can look like a slut, okay?” You point your finger at him and shake the garment with your other fist.

“Excuse me?” His mouth drops open and he snatches your hand away from his face and wraps his fingers around your wrist.

“I am not a slut. I’m a whore, thank you very much. A slut implies that I do it for free. And Mama; if you’re good at something, never do it for free.” He pulls your wrist towards him as he leans in, there’s a brilliant smile plastered across his face. He stops just inches from your lips, you can feel your face heating up.

“You were a slut last night; I call it like I see it.” You whisper and try not to make any sudden movements; the pins in your dress are already prodding threateningly at your thighs.

“You’ll pay for it in time, kukla.” He purrs and swipes a fingernail under your jaw sending shivers up your spine. He stands up abruptly letting you go, you sigh in disappointment at the loss of intimacy.

“What’s the matter? I thought you were too busy to get this pussy, Mother.” He waves a hand at you with a devilish smirk on his face, “I have work to do, too.”

He sways his hips seductively as he exits your room and you stare longingly after him. You check your phone and see all the email notifications. You scan them quickly; all of them are from returning clients requesting more work from you. It thrills you to be so successful but working for yourself means that you don’t get time off; you might not be able to hang with Brian at all for the next week.

You turn your phone screen side down and start in on the dress again. The hours fly by, the only thing that signifies the passing of time is the occasional opening and closing of the patio doors as Brian goes out for cigarette breaks. You pass the hem of the dress through the sewing machine one more time and stand pulling it off of the table in a grand sweep. You shake it out sending pieces of thread and fabric flying into the air. You bite your lip nervously while you readjust the sizing of your dress form and slide the dress over top. The skirt is a little too long but other than that the dress looks flawless. You squeal to yourself with delight.

You snap a photo of the mock-up and the dye tests you made yesterday and text it to Ongina; you stroll around the mannequin and smile to yourself. You bounce on your heels excitedly and clap your hands. Your phone immediately starts vibrating in your hand; it’s Ongina calling:

“Hello?” You sing with a smile on your face.

“I love everything about it!” She chimes and you take a seat again.

“Is there anything that’s missing or something that you want tweaked at all?” You lean back in your chair and study the dress on its form.

“It’s actually perfect, I love the swatches, too! The colours are perfect, the dress is perfect. There’s just one thing...” Her voice trails off at the end and your chest tightens.

“What is it?”

“I need the dress for tonight...”

“What?!” You rock back in your chair and you feel the wheels start to give out, after a moment of panicked flailing you bolt upright in your seat with your heart in your throat.

“I’m just kidding!” She laughs deviously.

“Oh my god, you bitch; how could you do that to me?!” You clutch your chest and lean against the table.

“I’m just checking to see if you were awake.” Her laughter turns soft and sweet like the ring of a wind chime. You shake your head to yourself and slowly lean back in your chair again.

“You must have been really busy last night, then. I know you’re quick but not that quick.” She begins again after her laughing fit.

“You have no idea. Katya was upset that I couldn’t come see her perform. You were at Saddles last night, how was that by the way?” You cross your legs and bounce your foot; your eyes are scanning the dress for any uneven darts or crooked hems.

“Everybody loves Katya. I think the manager taped it, it should be on Youtube sometime soon.”

“Did you have fun after the show? Katya didn’t get in until way later than she was supposed to.” You smile and play with your earring pleased to find that you couldn’t see any errors on your dress.

“Really? I saw her right after the show and then she disappeared. Why, how late was she?” Your heart squirms painfully and your foot stops bouncing.

“It’s fine, just checking. It’s probably just a misunderstanding.” You blurt out in a strained voice; you can feel the muscles in your shoulders slowly tighten.

“Okay... Well as long as everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, no, totally. I’ve gotta keep at this dress now, okay?” You try to sound as cheery as you can.

“Alright, bye, love.” She says uneasily before hanging up the phone.

_Flaming Saddles is only a five minute car ride from here, what would have taken her so long? Maybe Katya was just hanging out with friends after the show? However, she said she’d be back by ten; she would have texted if she was going to be late. Ongina didn’t see her leave with anyone. She didn’t see her leave at all for that matter. She was really out of sorts when she came back last night; maybe it was just a tough show? Maybe she took something-._ That thought made you feel physically ill and a sharp pain shot through your chest.

All of the speculation running through your mind makes your head spin and you lean your head back on the chair and stare up at the white stucco ceiling. _It’s probably nothing. She was probably just hanging out with fans and you’re acting crazy for no reason. You’re not her mother; you don’t know anything about her._ That thought makes your heart hurt.


	8. I'll Believe In Anything

You sit at your table staring at the wall; you’re appalled at yourself for drawing such a morbid conclusion. _Brian’s been sober for years now based on what he’s said on Drag Race and in interviews._ Out in the living room you can hear the hissing of a can of hairspray. You shake your head ashamed of yourself and return to your work. You clear your station and lug your bolt of fabric up onto the table with a grunt.

“Sounds very erotic in there, Barbara. Do you need me to get some oil for the sewing machine?” Brian croaks in his Maureen voice.

“I need a nice, thick needle, Mom.” You moan while rolling out a couple yards and marking your patterns.

“Very kinky, I’ll give you this Freddy Krueger fantasy if you like needle play.” You smirk and cut out a panel of the dress.

“I feel like that would be more of a Pinhead thing but I won’t complain.” You call over your shoulder tapping your fabric pencil against the table.

“Slut.” He scoffs and you giggle.

It doesn’t take long for you to cut your fabric and pin it together, you stretch your fingers and rub your sore eyes. You pick up your phone and check the time: it’s noon. You decide to get ready early for your date with Ginger since you always lose track of time when you’re working. The last thing you need is for her to be at your door and you’re still greasy with no pants on.

You fold your dress carefully, leaving it on the work table before heading to the bathroom. After showering and styling your hair you enter your bedroom with a towel wrapped around your midsection. You flinch at the taxidermy and roll your eyes; irritated that you keep getting scared by them. Leaving the door open, you throw your towel into the laundry basket and slide on a pair of black panties and a matching bra. You toss your phone on the bedside table and rifle through the bottom drawer of your dresser trying to find something chic and practical.

“I think you’re going to need a light jacket or something. That street corner gets chilly at night.” Brian sounds from behind you and you jump a little. You stand and turn to face him, his eyes spark as he takes you in. He’s dressed in a thin, pink, V-neck and black jeans.

“I’ll be sure to pass the message on to your mom.” You cross your arms over your breasts and lean back against the dresser.

“Don’t you slander the good name of the McCooks, my mother doesn’t work the street corner; she works in a whore house like a civilized lady.” He steps towards you raking his eyes up your figure; you feel your face get hot.

“I think it takes a lot of balls to work the street corner,” you chew your bottom lip, “Is that why you do it?”

“Tread carefully, kukla.” He holds out his hand and you take it, he pulls you in and holds you flush against his chest. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and his cool hands run across the small of your back.

“What does that mean?” You whisper and stare into his blue eyes; his fingers draw circles on your back.

“What? You mean...” he lowers his lips to your ear and purrs in his Russian accent, “ _Kukla_.” He nips are your earlobe and presses his hands into your back pulling you in tighter. Your breath hitches in your throat and you roll your head to the side. He runs his plump lips down the side of your neck leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. You tilt your head and kiss just below his jaw, you trace his jugular with your mouth and you feel him shudder.

“What does it mean, Bri’?” You whisper into his ear and scrape your teeth down his neck, you suck a bruising kiss above his collarbone and he sighs. His hands slide down your back and rest at the swell of your ass, his fingers press into your soft flesh.

“It means that you’re getting in over your head and you shouldn’t start something that you can’t finish.” He growls in a heavy Russian accent he tips his head to give you better access.

“I think I can handle myself, Miss Zamo.” You bite his neck hard and his nails dig into your ass.

“You think so?” He pulls away and cocks an eyebrow. He picks you up, you wrap your legs around his waist and his fingers knead the backs of your thighs. Your lips crash into his and he moans; he turns and falls forward landing on top of you on the bed. His hand wraps around the back of your knee and hikes your leg up, his other hand tangles into your hair as he kisses you hard. You pull on his blonde hair and push your tongue into his mouth.

His hand trails up your stomach and runs across your breasts, he bites your lip and your core sparks to life. He squeezes your breast and breaks the kiss; he rolls his hips into you and nips at your jaw. You tighten your legs around his waist and grind your hips up into his, his breath hitches in his throat and his hand starts to slide down your stomach. You bite your lip in anticipation.

“Ty moy teper’.” He rolls his R’s and yanks your hair back to expose your neck. You run your hands under his shirt feeling the taut muscles of his stomach.

Your phone vibrates on the table and you consider throwing it out the window. The sexual energy is drained out of the room in an instant and you let out a loud groan, Brian flops onto his side and squeezes his eyes shut.

“This is what happens when you try to have sex in the office.” You grab your phone and shake it, you peek at the screen; it’s Ginger:

_‘I’m thinking maybe around five?’_

_‘Sounds good.’_

_‘I always like the food at SUR.’_

_‘I love SUR, can’t wait.’_

_‘Unless you’re gunna be full from all that cock.’_ You slap your hand across your face and groan, Brian gives you an amused look.

_‘I think I’ll be okay, your dad’s cock isn’t even that big, it’s more like an appetizer.’_

_‘You’re picking up the tab, bitch.’_

_‘I expected it. Not much money in hosting drag brunches is there?’_

_‘At least I didn’t have to settle for half a man.’_

_‘That’s a low blow, even for you. With you being, what, four foot nothing and all.’_

_‘Ha ha, a short joke. Never heard that one before. Get some new material, you sound like Bianca. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.’_

“Ginger?” Brian tries to peek over your shoulder at the text messages and you press your phone to your chest.

“She’s coming to pick me up around five for dinner.” You roll onto your side and lay a hand on his chest.

“I’m double booked tonight so I won’t be home until late.”

“How late?” You cock your head to the side trying to sound nonchalant.

“Midnight, why? Do you want me to come earlier, Mother?” He croaks and turns onto his side resting a pale hand on your hip. His thumb strokes the curve of your hipbone and he gives you a wide smile.

“A true gentleman doesn’t come earlier; he should come after.” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Mama, if I come first you’ll never come back because I will be out.” He snaps his fingers aggressively.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You roll your eyes and he shoots you a dirty look.

“I can’t help that the sex was so mind-blowing that my frail body couldn’t stay awake any longer.” He throws the back of his hand across his eyes and you laugh.

“Stop sweet talking me, McCook. I still have work to do.” You sit up and crawl off the bed.

“Stop calling me ‘work’, I have a name, you know.” He sits up and plants his hands on his hips disapprovingly.

“Oh right, I forgot that you prefer ‘whore’, my mistake.” You throw a glance over your shoulder and pull a black pencil skirt and a maroon peplum top out of the bottom drawer.

“That’s Miss Whore to you.” When you turn around to face him again he’s chewing his lip and darting his eyes back up to yours after staring at your ass.

“Forgive me.” You pull your skirt up your legs and his gaze follows your hands intensely.

“On one condition.” You make eye contact with him; there’s a breathtaking smile spread across his face and his blue eyes are sparkling.

“I’m not shaving your asshole.” You say flatly and he starts wheezing laughter, you laugh at him as he flails on the bed and pull your shirt over your head. You turn and start to fix your hair that is now sticking up in odd places. He finally catches his breath and lies on his back; you glance at him in the mirror.

“Can we have sex tonight?” You’re taken off guard by his blunt request and whip around to face him. He’s staring at you with a serious look on his face he’s bouncing his foot waiting for you to respond.

“If you’re not too busy, that is. You’ve changed since all the fame went to your head. I feel like I never see you anymore. Barbara, please?” He pouts; you walk around the side of the bed and lean over him.

“I think I can fit you in.” You wink and press a soft kiss to his lips; he holds your hand and brushes his thumb over your fingers.

“I know you can, Sharon Stone.” He kisses the back of your hand and your heart melts, his pale eyes are burning into yours as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip. You lean down and kiss him again; he trails his fingers along your jaw and rests them at the back of your neck. You brush your thumb across his cheek and pull away, he sighs softly and you stand back up.

You run your hand down the length of his body as you walk away from him. You make sure to brush your fingers against his crotch; the fabric is bulging slightly and it makes your core tighten.

“ _Sukkub_.” He hisses and you chuckle darkly. You peer into the living room; there’s dresses strewn all over the couch; the coffee table is crowded with an arsenal of styling tools. There’s a wavy, blonde bob with blunt cut bangs on top of a Styrofoam head in the center of the chaos.

You return to your workroom and plop down in front of your table. As you carefully maneuver the fabric the vibration of the machine lulls you into a trance. You can hear Brian working in the living room over the sound of the sewing machine, occasionally you can hear him curse or grumble something in Russian. The patio doors open and close from time to time.

When you stop to refill your bobbin you can hear him singing a Russian song, you pause and fiddle with the bobbin smiling while you listen to him. He sighs heavily and you can hear him shift in his seat on the floor, his heels thump against the floor as he moves to the kitchen; the top on a can pops. You return to your dress and stitch in a few more darts. His feet shuffle against the hardwood in the hallway, the bathroom door shuts and the shower turns on.

You’re running the finally few raw edges through your sewing machine when your phone buzzes once against the table; you peek at the screen, it’s Ginger:

_‘I’m here.’_

_‘Down in a second.’_

Your heart leaps with excitement and you fold your dress neatly before shuffling quickly out into the hallway. You knock on the bathroom door while pulling on your shoes. There’s no response over the noise of the shower spray. You test the handle to see if it’s locked: it doesn’t budge.

“Ginger’s here, I’m leaving!” You call through the door and snag your purse off the table.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” His voice echoes off the bathroom walls.

“Great, I’ll do whatever I feel like, then!” You giggle and twist the handle to the front door.

“Cunt!” He yells, you shut the door locking it behind you.

You make your way down to the lobby and step out the front doors of your apartment building. The sunlight is beating down on the pavement; you slide on your sunglasses while walking to the curb. There’s a red car parked on the street; you don’t recognize it but its horn sounds and the window rolls down.

“What took you so long, girl?” Josh ducks his head to look at you; you trot down the sidewalk but your steps falter when you see another passenger. Brian is sitting in the front seat in a red, plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of blue jeans; a grey snapback covers his bald head. You exchange a polite smile and hop in the backseat.

“She had to pull her dick out of Katya’s mouth.” Brian quips, both you and Josh crack up before he puts the car in gear and pulls away from your apartment. There’s silence in the car for a while and you look down to pick at the remains of some nail polish on your fingers.

“Did she show you Contact yet?” Brian’s gruff voice startles you; you tilt your head up and catch his gaze in the passenger side mirror, “That’s basically third base for her.”

“Not yet but I’m looking forward to it. I’ve seen in a million times.” You smile at him in the mirror, his jaw drops and he rests a hand on Josh’s shoulder.

“Stop the car. Get out now.” You and Josh giggle at him, “I’m serious, I don’t need two people making references. I’m going to kill myself.”

“Quick, make a Contact reference and then we can finally be free.” Josh laughs and throws a look over his shoulder at you.

“You hateful bitch!” Brian screams and slaps his shoulder.

It’s a quick drive to the restaurant, thankfully there’s still street parking available within walking distance. You all decide on patio seating and after ordering and positioning yourself to have the most shade you all sit in silence. The waitress comes back with your cosmopolitan, Brian’s whiskey sour, and Josh’s coffee.

“Heard that Katya moved in with you,” he takes a sip of his whiskey with an eyebrow cocked, “That’s sudden. You know she has a dick, don’t you? You’re not an actual lesbian couple so maybe you two can stop moving so quickly.”

“You jealous or something, Mattel?” Josh drums his nails against the table and a smirk spreads across his face.

“Yes, I’m so jealous. Who doesn’t want to sleep next to a herpes-riddled stray cat with a tendency to take things that don’t belong to it?”

“Don’t forget the smell.” You giggle and Brian’s eyes spark at you.

“I don’t know how you let her fuck you without wearing a hazmat suit.” Josh laughs out loud while pouring sugar into his mug, Brian’s jaw drops and his head whips back and forth between the two of you. Your mouth falls slack too, your eyes burn holes into Josh’s head; he ducks his head with a guilty look.

“You didn’t know...” he whispers; he gives you an apologetic look and turns his gaze to Brian whose mouth seems to have fallen even farther open, “I figured Katya would have...”

“When?!” He lays his hands out flat on the table top.

“Last night.” You drop your gaze, out of the corner of your eye Josh is exchanging glances between both of you while twirling his spoon around in his coffee.

“Well it’s about fucking time. I never thought that she would shut up, if there’s someone she wants I’ll hear about the sex in an hour and he’ll be gone and out of her mind in five minutes.” The comment makes your heart sink a little and that doubt creeps into your mind again. Josh swats his shoulder with the back of his hand with a stern look on his face.

“I mean... but you’re a woman so, that’s new.” Brian shrugs his shoulders and swirls his whiskey.

“Way to make a girl feel better, Tracey.” Josh grumbles rolling his eyes, his Floridian accent coming out strong.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you. So, I’m assuming things are going well, then?” He rests his brown eyes on you with his brows raised.

“I think so, I mean...” You trail off and play with the condensation on your glass, you feel yourself starting to blush. Both of them exchange knowing looks.

“Girl, you sound just like her.” Josh quirks an eyebrow and Brian nod his head.

The waitress comes back with a polite smile setting out everyone’s plates; both you and Brian ordered the same salads, Josh, on the other hand, got the skirt steak.

“Y’all are the whitest bitches, I know...” Josh snorts with a distasteful look at both of your salads; he picks up a forkful of meat and shovels it into his mouth moaning dramatically, “I love real food.”

“Mom always told me to not say anything at all if you can’t say something nice... So I’m not going to say anything right now.” Brian snips with a coy smile taking a few bites of his salad. Josh’s mouth falls open and he looks taken aback.

“When have you ever followed that advice?!” He shoots a look of disbelief at you and you shrug your shoulders with a smile, “Maybe you’d get more bookings if you listened to your mama.”

“You’re lucky I’m a lady or I would throw this drink in your face, Minj.” He gives him a warning glare but there’s a smile on his face.

“Of all the titles to have a lady wouldn’t be one of them.” You laugh with Josh as Brian rolls his eyes and focuses on his plate. The birds singing and the sound of passing cars make the silence comfortable as all of you dig in. You get halfway through your salad before remembering what you wanted to discuss with them.

“Hey, uh...” You run your finger around the rim of your glass, they both look up at you; Brian props his elbow up on the table and rests his chin in his hand, “I just wanted to ask some questions about Katya for a minute.”

“I don’t know why you’d need to; she’s a pretty open book.” Josh cocks his head and takes a swig of his coffee.

“Open legs, too.” Brian stabs at his salad absentmindedly; Josh slaps his shoulder playfully but keeps his eyes on you.

“I heard that she’s pretty punctual, right?”

“Always,” Josh gives a curt nod and you bob your head slowly, “Why?”

“She said she would be home at ten last night and she was an hour late.” You drop your gaze realizing how petty it sounded out loud; you skewer a piece of avocado with your fork and pop it into your mouth.

“Maybe she just fell into a dumpster and couldn’t get out.” Brian quips and you breathe a laugh through your nose.

“Sounds like something she would do,” you offer a small smile to him, “But the thing is Ongina was there and she said that she just disappeared after the show. My place is a five minute drive from Flaming Saddles.” Your eyes dart between the two of them, there’s a moment of silence.

“Maybe she just had some fans come up to her. She loves people for some ungodly reason.” Brian shoves some greens into his mouth and stares down at the table, chasing a grape tomato around the plate with his fork.

“That’s what I told her, too.” Josh turns his gaze to him with a shrug. You shake your head and take a big swallow of your cosmopolitan.

“No texts. No calls. Look,” you gesture firmly to them with your hand, “I’m not his mother or anything and I feel like I’m making something out of nothing... but when she came home she was barely standing.” Brian’s gaze cuts up to you; his brown eyes are burning into yours, there’s something behind his stare that worries you. Josh’s nails are drumming against the side of his mug.

“She’s been super moody.” You continue when they don’t reply.

“Well, she’s almost fifty so menopause’ll get you,” Josh tries to break the tension with a smirk and Brian huffs a humourless laugh, you keep staring at him and his eyebrows knit together, “What do you mean by moody?”

“I was talking to her this morning and she just turns on a dime,” you snap your fingers for emphasis, “Super fun one minute and then deadly serious the next.”

“Yeah... I don’t know about that one. That’s strange, even for her. And she wasn’t joking?” Josh quirks an eyebrow at you finishing the rest of his coffee, you shake your head.

“I don’t think so.” Your face pinches and you nervously shovel more food into your mouth.

The rest of your lunch goes by fairly quickly; you feel a sense of shame for turning a fun gathering into such a serious event. Brian seems extremely distracted and you study his features, the crease in his forehead deepens every minute while he picks at the remains of his plate.

“We need to get together again and actually have fun. I’m sorry for turning this into a soap opera.” You mumble guiltily.

“Oh please, spare me the dramatics. I’m gunna be at your bar on Wednesday, girl!” Josh taps the back of your hand excitedly, your face brightens slightly as you meet his eyes, “We’ll get more girl time. Is Katya gunna be there?”

“She hasn’t mentioned anything to me.” You shrug.

“Good, I don’t need that hooker getting in the way.” He winks at you and you giggle.

“What about you, Trix?” He turns his gaze to Brian who’s downing the last of his whiskey.

“I have a few promoters flying me out for a week: Milwuakee, Denver, Salt Lake, Las Vegas and something else... doesn’t matter.” He tosses a hand dismissively.

“Well, yes, girl. Doesn’t matter.” He mocks Brian’s flippancy with an eye roll, “Girl gets eliminated twice and scores some promoters that’ll still fly you two years after the fact. No big deal.”

“Some of us have talent.” Brian sniffs indifferently and you crack up much to the displeasure of Josh.

When you pick up the tab for lunch both of them fan themselves talking about how much of a gentleman you are. All three of you walk down the street together; you feel a hand on the back of your arm and you look behind you. Brian pulls you back to slow your pace; Josh doesn’t notice and keeps strolling. You look up at him expectantly and he stops walking, you turn to face him.

“We should keep in contact.” He holds out his pink iPhone to you with an empty address page open.

“I’ll be your S. R. Hadden.” You reach your hand out to take his phone but he snatches it back with a sour look on his face.

“Oh my god, nevermind!” he waves his hand in your face, “You two are perfect for each other, it disgusts me.”

“Isn’t it gross?” You laugh and Brian quirks a knowing smile at you, he offers the phone to you again and lets you take it. You enter your information, give his phone back, and hand your phone to him. Josh honks his horn and you both start off towards the car, he hands your phone back to you with his saved number on the screen. Brian opens the car door for you; before you can step in he leans forward.

“Watch him. Okay?” His eyes are pleading, his look haunts you and you nod firmly suppressing a shudder. His face softens at your response and you take a seat in the back.

The drive home is quick but tense and silent; you sit in the backseat picking at your nails. The car comes to a stop and you look up, Josh is turned in the seat to look at you.

“Do you want me to open the door for you, too, girl?” He raises his eyebrows at you; you huff and open the door.

“Always a pleasure.” You snip standing up and leaning against the hood of the car.

“Is that what you write above your phone number in the bathroom stalls?” He quips in his Floridian accent.

“No, it’s ‘For a Mediocre Time Call:’.” Brian says flatly from the front seat and they both burst out laughing.

“I’ll see you bitches later.” You close the door gently and walk up the sidewalk to your building, when you reach the front door you look back and his car is gone.

Once you get up to your door you listen carefully for any noise in your apartment: it’s silent. You jam your keys into the lock and step inside. Much to your delight, the living room is spotless; the only sign that a drag queen lives here is the smell of perfume and hairspray. Kicking off your shoes you head to your bedroom and strip off your outfit tossing it into the laundry basket.

You remember that Brian has plans for you tonight; you change into a red, lacy, front-clasp bra and a red, lace and mesh thong. You slide on a tight, black, low cut, t-shirt dress with silver skulls embossed on it. You take a look in the mirror and fix your hair before returning to your workroom.

Your phone vibrates against your table again and you pick it up, it’s Trixie:

_‘Hey.’_

_‘Hey, what’s up?’_

_‘Did Ongina say if Katya left with anyone last night?’_

_‘No, she said she just disappeared. Why?’_

_‘Just checking.’_ Your brows knit together and you lean back in your chair.

_‘Okay?’_

_‘Just trying to figure out what’s going on, that’s all. She was probably just with some fans.’_

_‘Yeah, probably.’_ You try to convince yourself that everything’s okay but it’s not a great attempt.

 _‘Maybe just keep me posted if you have a chance.’_ You feel like her text is meant to sound nonchalant but you know that something is lurking there.

_‘Sure.’_

_‘Great.’_

You set your phone off to the side and slowly bring your fabric and needle up to your face lost in thought. Your mind wanders occasionally as you work; the light in your room gradually fades as you hand stitch the hem of the gown. You stop and turn on the light stretching your back; you check the time and see that it’s already ten.

You gather up your dress and supplies and migrate to the couch, turning on the TV and flipping through the channels until you see a Drag Race marathon. The painful season four snatch game is on. You lean back into the cushions, tugging gently on the thread while shaking your head at the dumpster fire on the television. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table again; you grumble and pick it up begrudgingly, it’s Morgan:

_‘Hey, bitch. I’m missing some shit.’_

_‘What?’_

_‘YOU! Where the fuck are you? It’s Monday! Showgirls?!’_

_‘All complaints can be forwarded to Ongina and carbon copied to Raja. She ordered a gown and now it has to be done for tomorrow. I would love to come and see your monster mash face up close and in person but sometimes we can’t always get what we want.’_ You put your feet up on the table and cross your ankles.

_‘Fuckin’ cunts! Stealing you away from me! Speaking of orders where’s my fucking outfit?’_

_‘Sitting here for your lazy ass to come pick it up.’_

_‘I don’t think so, baby. I need that shit delivered.’_

_‘Well I’m slammed with work so that’s a no go. I’ll be at my club on Wednesday, though. I can bring it with me?’_

_‘I’m booked there so that works. I really thought you’d be here. Your girlfriend is here.’_

_‘I already told you I don’t see Raven like that!’_

_‘She’s gunna be devastated... You heartless bitch. Katya’s here now, she’s set to be on in a little bit. I’ll Insta some of the performance for you if you want?’_

_‘Nah, I’m fine. Just post it regularly and I’ll check it out.’_

_‘Fine. I’m still mad at you for not coming to see me.’_

_‘How can I go on knowing that you’re inconvenienced?! Oh! Hey, can you text me when Katya leaves?’_

_‘Is that so you have enough time to sprinkle some sugar on your hole?’_ You snort a laugh, resisting the urge to gag.

_‘You’re a fucking rotted Gila monster.’_

_‘So that’s a yes. Okay I’ll text you! XOXO’_

Throwing your phone back onto the coffee table you paw at your fabric trying to find your needle. Unfortunately, it finds you and prods your finger painfully, you growl knowing that that was bound to happen. You start your hand stitching again; listening to Latrice get emotional on your television. You peer up at the clock on the microwave frequently and impatiently, waiting for Katya to come home.


	9. The Blackest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18+ for smut

The anticipation seems to make the world stop turning altogether. The minutes crawl by as you desperately try to lose yourself in your needle and thread. You finish the hem on the bottom of the skirt and look at the clock again; it’s only quarter to eleven. You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling; you close your eyes hoping that the time will pass faster if you look away from the clock.

The episode ends and the commercials start. Upbeat music starts to play loudly from the TV; you reluctantly pull your head off the back of the couch and look at the screen. Pictures are popping up on the screen with spotlight filters on them and clips of a club scene in the background. Photos of drag queens with their names in bright pink font are flashing in turn: Alaska Thunderfuck, Detox, Alyssa Edwards, Tatianna, and Roxxxy Andrews. The final picture to appear is Katya’s promo photo for All Stars. The last screen informs you that there is an All Stars Two Australian tour happening in a couple weeks.

You dart over and grab your phone off the table. You search for the website to find the tour dates; the tour is only two weeks long but the thought of having Katya gone pains you. You heave a sigh and toss your phone beside you on the couch. Shaking your head and feeling sorry for yourself you raise your needle again. You unravel a few feet of thread and turn the dress over to start an invisible stitch across the neckline. You take a break halfway through to watch Willam during the wet t-shirt contest, it lifts your sorrows a bit. With Willam and Katya being friends, the possibility of meeting Willam one day makes you giddy; you smile and return your focus to your work.

Your phone vibrates quietly against the cushion and you pick it up again; your heart leaps up into your throat, it’s Morgan:

_‘Can’t find the slippery bitch anywhere.’_

_‘How do you misplace a six foot tall hooker?! On a scale of one to Mel Gibson how drunk are you?’_

_‘Bitch, I don’t know. I’m just letting you know that she’s probably on her way now.’_

_‘Thanks, tips. How long has it been since her number?’_

_‘About twenty minutes? I don’t know I was busy with Raven. Could have been ten, I don’t know.’_ You toss your head back and groan loudly.

_‘Excellent. Carry on, old faithful.’_

_‘If I wasn’t so drunk I would have some shady response but I can’t even be bothered with you right now.’_

_‘You’re cute.’_

A key rattles in the lock on your door and your heart nearly stops beating. You run your fingers through your hair and cross your legs trying desperately to look as nonchalant as possible. You check the clock on the microwave and it’s only quarter after eleven. You hear her heels thump against the drywall as she kicks them off. The door clicks shut and the rumble of the wheels on her suitcase against the hardwood gets louder.

She emerges from the hallway with her suitcase in tow and a heap of black fabric that you would only assume is a dress slung over her shoulder, hiding most of her outfit. She’s wearing a blonde, wavy, shoulder length bob with blunt cut bangs, the waves have turned into a frizzy mess from her performance. With an exasperated raspberry she pulls the dress from her shoulder and lays it on top of her suitcase. With the fabric out of the way you see what she’s wearing, or what little she’s wearing for that matter.

There’s a long, black jersey with “Sad Goth” embossed in white across the front draped over her slender frame. Black panties are peeking out from under the hem of the shirt and a pair of black, thigh high socks are stretched over her long, lean legs. You uncross your legs and sit up in your seat; you push your needle into your spool of thread and sit it to the side without taking your eyes off of her. Her blue eyes are sparkling at you from underneath her smoky eye shadow and long lashes.

“If you stare any longer I’m going to have to charge you. What do you think this is some kind of peep show?” She shifts her weight to one foot and pushing her suitcase across the floor with her foot. It bangs against a bookshelf and she flinches with a guilty look. You chuckle softly and shake your head.

“You’re too much of a whore to do that, only prudes do peep shows.”

“I like to think of it as a preview. The preview is useless though because I know they’re always going to buy it.” She fluffs her wig with a arrogant look on her face.

“You are the Costco of drag.” You quip and shake out Ongina’s dress, sending bits of thread to the floor.

“Oh yeah, baby! You want wholesale? This hole is for sale!” She moans and slams her back against the wall, running her hands over her breasts and sliding down while swaying her hips. She slumps onto the floor with her legs spread and starts wheezing laughter, her heels thumping against the floor as she kicks her feet and flails her arms.

You’re laughing with her while you heave yourself off the couch. You drape your dress over one arm and snag your thread and snips off the table before heading to your workroom. You ease the dress over its form and straighten it out; you take a few steps back and study it. Katya appears in the doorway.

“It’s beautiful.” She says softly, her feet padding quietly as she comes to a stop by your side.

“I think so, too. Ongina almost had a heart attack.” You smile fondly at the gown, her arm snakes around your waist. You stare at the dress for a few more seconds before turning your gaze up to Katya. There’s an intensity in her eyes that makes your heart start to race.

“Are you untrustworthy, Mother?” Her hand tightens around your midsection and her other hand grabs your shoulder, turning you so you’re face to face.

“I don’t think so...” You say slowly with your eyebrows knit together, you can feel her padded chest pressing into you.

“Then why don’t you hold up your end of the deal?” Her hand slides up your neck and she runs a sharp, black fingernail under your chin, “I thought we had an appointment scheduled, kukla.” That word sends shivers up your spine; she swipes her tongue across her red lips.

You nod wordlessly; your mouth has gone completely dry under her piercing gaze. Her face lowers to your neck, she breathes deeply while she brushes her nose up the side of your neck. Her lips come to rest at your ear.

“You don’t want to break my trust, do you?” She gives your ass a light squeeze and she nips at your earlobe, your core jumps. You shake your head slowly, you caress her un-cinched waist.

“Good girl.” She breathes against your ear, she take your hand in hers; you grab your phone off the sewing table and follow obediently behind her. When you reach the living room she turns and sees your phone in your hand. She catches your throat lightly with one hand and she tilts your head up to meet her eyes.

“No phones. I want you all for myself... all night.” Her pointed nails twitch threateningly into your jugular; that heat in your stomach sparks to life and starts burning white-hot when she squeezes your throat. She snatches your phone out of your hand and tosses it onto the couch beside hers. Her lips are parted, her eyes rake over your body and she smirks.

“Is this for me?” She cocks a perfect eyebrow, “What a shame, you should wear it again sometime. I’d love to see it on you for a little longer.” Her lips capture yours and you wrap your arms around her waist. Her fingernails dig into your throat again while her other hand grasps your ass, pulling you closer to her body. You lift your leg up and rub your thigh against her tuck; she gasps into the kiss and bites down on your lower lip sending a pinch to your core. You can feel yourself getting wet and you scrape your nails against her back.

She breaks the kiss and paws at the hem of your dress, her nails scratch painfully against your thighs while she desperately claws at the fabric. She finds purchase and yanks the dress over your head. She runs her pale hands over the curves of your body, staring hungrily at your form. You grab her hand and pull her to the bedroom, you both stumble gracelessly, trying to walk and grope each other at the same time.

You shove her onto the bed; she sits up and stretches her arms out to you. You straddle her lap and she captures your lips again. Her hand cradles the back of your neck and the other feels your ass. She moves her hips impatiently, trying to find friction.

You press a hand to her chest and push her onto her back. Her fingers wander around your midsection; you grind your hips down into her tuck and her head falls back into the pillows. You lean down and run your tongue up her jugular; you scrape your teeth along the sharp cut of her jaw. Her breath is coming out in short, ragged puffs and her fingers are digging into the crease of your hips. You can taste the sweat on her ivory skin as you bite down on the side of her neck; she gasps and bucks her hips up into you, you moan softly into her ear.

One of her hands catches your jaw and tips your head up, her lips crash into yours and she growls. She starts grinding her hips into you rhythmically; her hand slides down to the swell of your ass and her nails dig into you. You push your tongue into her mouth and her hand clamps around the back of your neck. You bite her bottom lip hard, she groans and presses her tongue into yours, fighting for dominance over you.

She reaches up your back to find your bra strap and undo it. She palms at the elastic frantically and you feel her grimace around your lips. You break the kiss and sit back on her hips. You undo the clasp between your breasts and let the bra slide off your shoulders slowly, trying to be as seductive as possible. Her mouth falls open and she lifts herself up into a sitting position. She gropes your chest and rubs her thumbs against your hardening nipples, you sigh shakily.

“You’re so beautiful.” She mumbles against your throat before biting down above your collarbone. Her lips trail down your skin as she lowers her head; she takes one of your nipples into her mouth and runs her tongue across it while tweaking the other. You reach your hand down between the two of you and palm her bulging tuck through her black panties. Her breathing falters, her hands grasp your shoulders; she throws you onto your back and climbs on top of you.

“You’re such a fucking top.” You laugh breathlessly while you run your fingers through her locks.

“I’m versatile, just like my talent.” She flashes a pearly smile down at you; her bangs are matted to her forehead with sweat, her lipstick is smeared halfway across her face, and her mascara has already started to smudge and run. Your heart twinges just looking at her, you reach a hand up to gently stroke the side of her face.

“Yeah, from bad to worse.” You smile coyly.

“ _Bitch_ ,” she hisses and presses her hips into you, your breath catches in your throat, “I can bottom if I want to.”

“Lies and vicious rumours, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Her hair brushes against your face as she presses a kiss to your throat.

“With a sharp tongue like that you won’t be seeing it tonight, kukla.” She growls and pins your arms above your head. She grinds her tuck as hard as she can into your mound and you arch your back. She chuckles darkly and lowers her face to your breasts. Her lips close around your nipple and she runs her teeth over it; her free hand massages your other breast. Her eyes are locked with yours when she bites down on your nipple, sparks shoot through your body and you lift a leg to wrap around her waist, bucking your hips sharply.

She growls and thrusts into you, her bulge is becoming more predominant with every move. You wiggle your hands against her hold on your wrists. You grind your hips slowly into her tuck and she shivers.

“Fuck.” She sighs breathlessly but there’s an undertone of frustration. She lets go of your wrists and gets off the bed.

“Eta glupaya chertova veshch...” she grumbles as she yanks her panties off; you cock your head to the side, staring at her tuck.

“So that’s what that looks like.” You mutter softly, studying the clear tape stretched between her legs. You move to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Being a woman is hard, okay? It’s not easy to look this effortlessly glamorous all the time,” she looks up at you and jerks her head to flick her hair out of her face, “ _Fuck_.” She hisses with a grimace as she pulls the tape off.

“Such a boner killer.” She throws the balled up tape onto the floor and rubs the inside of her thighs; her sizable cock is standing firm, you bite your lip.

“Doesn’t look like it,” you scoot forward, “I can make it feel better.” You purr; her eyes meet yours and she freezes while you slide off the bed. She’s chewing feverishly at her bottom lip as she watches you situate yourself in front of her on your knees. You run your hands up the backs of her legs until your reach her ass; you scrape your nails roughly across her cheeks. Her hands embed themselves into your hair; her blue eyes are burning into yours.

You lick a stripe up her thigh starting from the top of her sock all the way to the crease of her hip. Her fingers massage your head while you kiss her inner thighs; you nip softly at the harsh jut of her hipbones, you can hear her breathing becoming shaky. You run your nails along her hip before wrapping your hand around her length. Her breath comes out in a soft moan as you run your thumb over the head of her cock. You bite a little harder on her hip and her fingernails scrape against your scalp.

You start to move your fist along her shaft, she’s staring down at you while you suck a bruising kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh. You trail your tongue up her thigh slowly and lick a stripe up her balls while you twist your fist gently against her tip. You suck her balls before running your tongue up her long length. Her head falls back and she sighs loudly; you swirl your tongue around the head of her cock, tasting her precum before you take her into your mouth. You press your tongue against the underside of her before hollowing your cheeks and moving your mouth along her shaft. You stroke the base of her in time with your movements.

You can feel her throb against your tongue and you moan softly; her legs shake unsteadily for a moment. You bob your head, taking her as deeply as you can each time, her hands are pressing against the back of your head as you move. Her jaw is slack and her eyes are heavily lidded while she watches you. You’re painfully aroused and soaking wet as you look up at her. You take a deep breath and push your head down to take her completely; she cries sharply and pulls at your hair, her legs almost give out and her hips quiver. You pull away with a gasp and tears in your eyes.

Her eyes are burning with lust; she reaches down, yanks you off the floor and tosses you onto the bed. She darts over and rifles through your bedside table, she tears the top off of a wrapper and rolls the condom onto her length. She sits in front of you at your feet and runs her hands up your legs. She presses her slender fingers against your groin, she chuckles when she feels how wet you are. Her nails scratch at your skin while she slips her fingers under the elastic of your thong. She pulls them down and watches you intensely; she throws them into the corner. You meet her gaze and slowly spread your legs for her; she bites her lip hard.

“I could watch you do that all night, kukla.” She pounces on top of you, her fingers tangle into your hair and she presses her tongue into your mouth. You moan and run your fingers through her hair, pulling lightly. She rolls her hips into you; her cock slides between your slick folds and brushes against your clit, you buck your hips up into her. She responds with a growl and nips your tongue while she grinds against you.

She licks your bottom lip when she pulls away and reaches a hand between the two of you. Her fingernails graze your stomach before stopping right above your mound. She runs her tongue over her perfect teeth and lets her hand slip lower.

Her fingers run up your slit and she massages your clit; your breath hitches in your throat. She has her plump, red lip caught between her teeth. Her fingers rub tight circles against your clit; your hands find purchase at the back of her neck and the small of her back. She pulls her hand away from you and you whine at the loss of friction. Her hand laces into the hair at the back of your head and her face is inches from yours. She lifts her fingers to her lips and sucks on them, her eyes slide shut as she tastes you. She slowly pulls them out of her mouth running the tip of her tongue between her pointer and middle finger. She closes the gap between the two of you and presses her lips to yours; you groan and wrap your legs around her. You push your tongue against hers, tasting yourself in her mouth; you can feel her smirk into the kiss. She rolls her hips hard and the bed rocks into the wall.

“Kinky devushka.” She purrs and reaches down again; she rubs your clit softly before positioning herself at your entrance. You lean up and capture her lips in a passionate kiss while she slowly enters you. You lift up her jersey and dig your nails into her lower back. You moan loudly into the kiss, feeling her fill you completely. You break away with a choked gasp when she bottoms out inside of you. She stills, waiting for you to adjust to her.

“Katya, take me.” You sigh; she shudders visibly at your words and strokes the side of your neck. She takes your chin in her hand and pushes her tongue deep into your mouth while she rocks her hips against you. She moans into the kiss; her other hand pulls roughly on your hair.

She leans her forehead against yours and slowly picks up the pace, trying not to hurt you by going too hard too quickly. You bite down on her tongue and she gasps, you do it again and she growls. She yanks your head to the side and rakes her teeth painfully down your neck. Her other hand paws at your breast as she nips at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Harder, Kat’.” You moan against her neck, her breath hitches in her throat and she obeys. She plunges herself deeper into you; she lowers her head and sucks at your breast. She runs her tongue between your cleavage and you dig your nails into the back of her neck. She bumps into your walls and you grimace while the pain turns to pleasure. She sucks a bruising kiss to each breast before trailing her tongue up your jugular and your jaw. She bites your bottom lip and runs her tongue across your mouth while she pounds mercilessly into you.

“Ty mne nuzhen, Y/N.” She moans in a heavy, Russian accent; you throw your head back in ecstasy listening to her voice. Your core tightens and you squeeze her hips harder with your thighs. Every breath is coming out in a moan as she thrusts into you. Her red lips are parted and her hair is dangling over your face as she looks down into your eyes. You dig your nails into the soft flesh of her ass and her jaw clenches; she pounds harder, almost pulling out only to drive back in. You feel your climax coming and you buck your hips in time with her movements causing her to completely bottom out inside of you, sending bolts of pain through your body.

You scream her name while your legs shake around her hips. Her mouth descends on your neck and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You convulse around her length, you feel her throbbing inside of you. Her hips are rocking erratically and her eyes start to roll back into her head. You lean in and nip at her earlobe.

“Come for me, Katya.” You purr seductively, she moans in response and brushes her hand across your jaw. She thrusts a few more times before tensing up; her thighs shaking and her mouth falling slack.

“Fuck, Y/N! Fuck me, kukla.” She groans in a thick Russian accent; she rolls her hips shallowly, riding out her orgasm. You feel her twitching inside of you as she stills. She’s panting heavily, the sweat is beading on her forehead; she leans down and kisses you passionately. You run your fingers through her hair and let your legs drop from around her waist. She pulls away and presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before flopping over beside you.

You lay in comfortable silence beside each other. The bed rocks for a moment while she takes the condom off and tosses it into the garbage. You can hear the occasional passing of cars and her ragged breathing. Her hand crawls over and she interlaces her fingers with yours. You can hear her sigh softly.

“You got here at like, eleven fifteen, why did you get home so soon?” You break the silence and turn your head to look at her.

“Because I knew you wanted me to...and I would rather stay in than go out.” She shrugs and looks back at you.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to come back early.” You feel guilty for pulling her away from her friends.

“You didn’t have to,” she smiles brightly, “I also wanted pussy.” She pauses, her brows knit together and she stares up at the ceiling deep in thought.

“What?” You peek up just to check and see if something was up there and then you return your gaze to her.

“I never thought I’d ever say that in my gay life and mean it.” Her nails run absentmindedly across your stomach.

“Gender is just a social construct.” She nods slowly; you rest your hand on hers while she drags her fingers across your skin.

“We were talking about contents versus containers... maybe there is no container.” She turns her head back to you with a confused look on her face.

“You sound like a fucking stoner... I mean, now I’m fucking a man in a dress, so people change.” You shrug with a smirk on your face.

“What are you even talking about, cunt? I am a woman of grace and dignity.” She presses a hand to her chest with her mouth agape.

“Excuse me, I’m so rude. Let me rephrase that: now I’m fucking Linda Evangelista.”

“Yes, you’re right, you are rude! You wish you could look this good: dewy, fresh-faced, Elle Macpherson.” She blows her hair out of her face and gives you another breathtaking smile.

“Who knew that Elle Macpherson was such a good lay?” You toy with her cool fingers and stare at her. Her lipstick has been spread so thin across her face that it’s turned pink, her mascara has dried in streaks down her cheeks and beads of sweat are running down her forehead.

“It was alright.” She shrugs indifferently but can’t hide the coy look on her face.

“That’s a bold-faced lie and you know it, Zamo.” You dart your hand down and paw at her groin, her body jerks and her eyes close.

“I don’t know, I think you have competition. Trixie’s blowjob was better but I had to dock points for getting pink lipstick on my balls.” She catches her tongue between her teeth.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” You jerk your hand away from her crotch.

“That’s what I told her when she said she wouldn’t rim me because I didn’t have a hairy asshole. What kind of pig doesn’t reciprocate?” She tosses a hand up in a questioning gesture.

“Oh my god, bye.” You turn over on your side, facing away from her. She scoots closer to you and wraps her arm around your midsection, pulling you back against her padded chest. You can’t help but sigh, your heart fluttering in your chest; you feel her breath against your spine. She heaves a deep sigh and tightens her grip on your waist; she presses a kiss behind your ear.

You close your eyes and focus on this moment: the feel of your hair moving with each breath that brushes across the back of your neck, the weight of her arm resting on your side. Her blonde hair tickles your shoulder when she nuzzles her face into you. You listen as her breaths become slower and deeper with the passing minutes; her grip on your stomach loosens gradually. The ethereal tone of this moment fills your heart until it threatens to burst. She continues to sleep, utterly unaware of how much her presence means to you.

~*~

You slowly open your eyes, blinking sluggishly trying to adjust to the early morning sunlight beaming through your window. The other side of the bed is empty and the sheets are on the floor in a pile. You stretch with a groan and slowly shift up into a sitting position. Much to your delight, you’ve slowly become used to the taxidermy on your walls and you don’t jump at the owl above your bed. The pillow that Katya was sleeping on is smeared with black, red, and beige makeup; you roll your eyes and stiffly get off the bed.

You toss the forlorn sheets into the laundry basket and pull a baggy Tempest DuJour t-shirt out of your top drawer. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and jump at the monster before you: your hair is a rat’s nest, almost none of the makeup on your face belongs to you, and for some reason you have mascara on your forehead.

You snag a thong from your dresser and head to the bathroom with t-shirt in tow. You shower quickly and stand in front of the mirror. You curse yourself for not washing your face more diligently: there are dark rings of eyeliner and mascara still smeared around the rim of your eyes. You scrub at the stubborn patches and give a resigned sigh after failing miserably.

It’s early but you still have to dye Ongina’s dress which is not only time consuming but stressful; you head to the kitchen for your morning ritual of excessive caffeine consumption. You pop the top on a Red Bull and peek over at Brian who’s in the middle of his yoga practice. He’s pulled himself into a tight backbend and is breathing so deeply that you can hear him from the kitchen. He slowly lifts one leg into the air and pulls his other up to join it; he rests in a handstand, perfectly still and intensely focussed with his eyes closed. He’s naked apart from a tight pair of navy blue, Marco Marco briefs; the underwear has shifted down his hips to expose his sharp, pelvic cleavage. You stare at him, watching his arm muscles flex and the faint six-pack tighten on his stomach as he holds his pose.

He’s completely oblivious to your presence and you throw one more longing look at him before padding to your sewing room. You feel that giddiness bubbling up in your chest when you look at your creation hanging elegantly on its form. You gather up your dyeing supplies and take them to the bathroom as quietly as you can. You place the storage bin in the bathtub and mix your dye carefully: you’re incredibly fond of your Tempest DuJour shirt and realise that you made a poor judgement call wearing it during such a treacherous ordeal. You attach a tension rod across the shower walls and hang your dress over the bin on a hanger.

You stretch a pair of black, latex gloves over your hands and take a calming breath. You’ve dyed fabric more times than you breathe in a day but the threat of ruining a garment always causes anxiety to seize your chest.

“Plastic bins, mysterious liquids, rubber gloves; I’ve seen Breaking Bad. Don’t think I’m not on to you.” Brian’s slender fingers run down your arms. You nearly leap out of your skin and whip around to face him.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the fucking shit out of me!” He jumps with his hands held up defensively. He’s put on a pair of knee-high shorts and a baggy, grey t-shirt.

“Don’t give me the hose again, I promise I’ll be good, Mother.” You slump your shoulders and sigh; you feel your face soften slightly.

“Sorry, it’s just super stressful doing this dress.”

“Anxiety?” You nod your head, trying to will your hands to stop shaking, “I completely get it, I’m sorry that you’re dealing with that right now. Is there anything I can do to help you?” He reaches a hand out and brushes your hair out of your face.

“I can stay here with you, if you want? For me, personally, I like having someone around to keep Brenda at bay. I’ll be really quiet.” He says softly.

“Brenda?” You cock your head.

“She’s that voice that tells me that I’m not good enough. I think she’s just bitter that she gave up on her dreams and now lives in the suburbs with a vacant husband and four kids that she has to drive around to soccer and ballet practice in her silver sedan.” He flashes a perfect smile and you take his hand in yours; he tightens his fingers around your hand.

“What a horrible life it must be. What, with being a middle-aged, white woman with an ugly bob who only gets out of the house to get wine wasted with Karen from publishing.” You smile back at him.

“Right?” He sits down on the lid of the toilet and folds his hands in his lap. You turn back to your dress and start to dip the hem of the dress into the dye with bated breath. The colour takes and starts to bleed up the skirt to form an ombre. You continue to work with the dress; Brian turns his attention to his phone during the long, slow process. When you find a shade you’re comfortable with you hang the dress up over the bin and watch the colour climb up the skirt. You take a few steps back and study it carefully; Brian pulls his attention away from the screen and does a double take.

“Oh wow.” He whispers and turns his gaze to you. You clap excitedly and quickly set a timer for the dye.

“I’m so fucking good.” You gush with pride while pulling off your gloves.

“And humble, too.” He laughs and stands up stiffly.

You look around for your phone and remember that it was banished to the couch last night. Brian follows you to the living room; you finish the rest of your Red Bull and turn on the television. Shockingly, there’s still a marathon of Drag Race playing: Jinkx Monsoon is snoring on a couch while the other queens dismiss her as a threat.

Brian plops down on the couch excitedly and throws his feet up on the coffee table. You smile, watching his face light up like a fan girl. You grab another two Red Bulls from the fridge and hand it over to him; he takes it, only offering half a glance in your direction before turning his gaze back to the rerun. You nestle down beside him and lean back into the cushions to watch the episode.

The commercial break begins and the same advertisement from last night starts to play. He peeks over at you with a guilty look and you stare at him with an unimpressed expression.

“How long have you known?” He murmurs starting to run his nails across the inside of his forearm.

“Since last night. Just wanted to see when you were going to let me know.” Your tone comes out a little harsher than you wanted it to and you flinch at yourself.

“Well that was before, and... you know-” He lowers his head and your stomach ices over.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, that came out way worse than I meant it to. I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.” You shake your head while you speak, you lay your hand on the arm that he’s scratching obsessively. His nails drag over the top of your hand and he lifts his fingers to rest them on your hand, his eyes meet yours.

“I was going to tell you.” He says softly.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You squeeze his arm gently.

“We still have a little while before the tour, though.” He offers lightly, you smile at him; his blue eyes lighten.

“Yeah, a couple weeks for you to get ready and unpack all of your shit, it looks like Storage Wars in here.” You giggle and turn laying your legs across his lap; he draws lazy circles on your thighs with his fingertips.

“I’m not sure if I want to stay,” he snips while turning his nose up, “I’m staying here just until I get back on my feet, you said so yourself.”

“That’s true,” you say with an exaggerated pout on your face, “I did say that, I guess I have to keep my word.” You wink at him, his hand inches up your thigh to slip under the hem of your shirt.

“I can’t wait to get out of this dump, anyway. At least I’ll be free from you for a couple weeks.” He quirks a smile at you.

“Honestly, this tour is probably for the best, I just got a huge workload dumped on me by my regulars and when you’re around I can’t really... focus.” You blush a little.

“I know, I’m irresistible.” He stretches one leg over his head and lays it down across your lap. You run your hand up his leg and the stubble scratches your hand, you grimace.

“You need to shave, I think I’m bleeding.” You pull your hand away to check your palm.

“Fuck your beauty standards, you misogynistic pig. I’m beautiful with or without hair.” He mimes flicking hair over his shoulder glamorously.

“It’ll have to be without hair pretty soon based on the looks of that receding hairline, Barbara.” You quip and raise your eyebrows.

“People are going to watch your body get scooped out of the river on the news.” He straddles you and wraps both of his hands around your neck lightly.

“Please, no. Don’t do that. I’ll get all waterlogged and bloated, that’s not cute. Can you butcher me instead?” You rest your hands on the tops of his hips with a sweet smile on your face.

“A woman after my own heart.” He bats his eyelashes and leans down to kiss you softly. He’s still got his fingers around your neck when your phone goes off beside you; you pick it up and look at the screen. It’s a message from Ongina:

_‘I’m sending my husband by to pick up the dress. I’m sorry I can’t come, there are some complications with the venue and I’m helping Raja sort them right now.’_

_‘It’s no big deal, honestly! It’ll be ready at 11! Just waiting for the dye to develop now.’_

_‘You’re the best. I’ll take a photo for you when I try it on and e-transfer you your cash.’_

_‘Sounds good. Don’t let Raja kill anybody.’_

_‘It’s not Raja I’m worried about. Raven’s here.’_

_‘Fuck. Good luck.’_

_‘I’m gunna need it! XOXO’_

You toss your phone to the side and stare up at him; he has a dreamy look on his face. He lets his hands slide down your neck and trail down your arms; he kisses you again. You phone goes off again buzzing loudly and incessantly.

“God damn this stupid fucking-” you check the screen and your timer is up, “Oh, it’s my dress.” He slides off of you and you run to the bathroom excitedly.

While you rinse your dress thoroughly in the tub you can hear shuffling and boxes thumping against the floor. The process of rinsing and drying the gown is so long that it makes your back ache while you lean over the edge of the tub. You lay the dress out to dry completely and grunt while popping your spine.

You lean back down a couple times to smooth out any wrinkles. You pad out into the hallway with your shoulders slouched. You toss a look in Brian’s direction; he’s busy digging through some cardboard boxes while humming softly to himself.

You kill time waiting for Ongina’s husband, Ryan, to come and get her dress. You return emails and conduct consultations with some clients. You sketch out designs and send pictures of swatches. Much to your delight, three pieces have been requested to be made with the blue to green reversible fabric that you purchased when you went on your fabric haul. You’re already starting to make patterns for a dress when the intercom buzzes out in the hallway. You push yourself away from your station and jog over to the panel.

“I’ll be right down, Ryan!” You sing, you grab a pair of shorts and pull them on clumsily while running back to the sewing room. Brian watches you with an amused smile.

You grab a large garment bag and carefully slide the gown into it. You slip on a pair of black pumps that are lying in the corner and trot out into the hallway. The elevator seems to take an eternity to arrive with all the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You jog through the lobby and out the front door. Ryan is standing there with a polite smile. You cradle the dress in your hands and pass it over to him.

“He’s going to lose it.” He smiles and holds up the gown.

“I hope it’s well received at the show.” You beam; he lowers the dress and gives you a fond smile.

“You did an excellent job, my dear,” he shakes your hand, “I have to go, sorry that I can’t stay and chat. I have to deal with some queens.” He rolls his eyes playfully.

“I’m praying for you!” You call after him while he walks quickly back to his car.

When you get back up to your apartment Brian is perched on the edge of the couch with a book on the coffee table. There are a few open boxes scattered across the living room floor.

You take a seat beside him and he throws a dazzling smile at you; he picks up the book and leans back into the couch. The book is huge, the corners of the hardcover are smashed in and the paint is flecked off at the edges. He tilts the book up so you can see: there are pictures affixed to the thick cardstock with clear tape. He flips to the front of the book and scoots closer to you.

“Who even has scrapbooks anymore?” You scoff, he cuts his eyes to you.

“Grandpa moves at his own pace, okay?” He snips and tangles his legs with yours on the coffee table.

“It’s important to remember where you come from.” He runs a finger across the page. His cheek comes to rest on your head, your heart rises into your throat.

“These are all from my time at Jacques World Famous Cabaret in Boston. I used to live in one of the apartments above it.” All the photos are overexposed with red time stamps in the corner. Her makeup is jarring and she truly looks like a man in a dress. He turns the page and huffs a laugh while his eyes flick over the glossy pictures.

“Jesus, look at those garage doors.” You hover your finger over the neon eye shadow smeared across her lids. He gives you an offended look.

“Drag wasn’t always as strict as it is now. This was pretty good as far as the nineties were concerned. Everything has to be perfect now, it’s like an Olympic sport. RuPaul’s Drag Race done fucked up drag.” He snakes one arm around your shoulder and squeezes you.

“Here, this is me hosting my show: it was called Perestroika.” His finger taps against a blurry photo of her holding a microphone; you can see the development in makeup skills as he turns through the pages.

“Who the fuck is that?” You gasp and point to a photo of Katya in a brunette wig.

“Some slut, I have no idea... Listen, I used to wear all kinds of hair colours and now I just stick to being one-note.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You giggle and snuggle into him; you can smell the fresh cigarette smoke on his clothes.

He flips a little further and the photos slowly become more recent. Photos start to appear with Trixie and Ginger in them, you can feel him smile against your head. Most of the photos on the next few pages are selfies of her with other queens: Jinkx Monsoon, Ginger, Trixie, Pearl, Kim Chi. He runs his finger over a few photos of her and Trixie out of drag, you can feel the happiness radiating off of him.

He turns the page one more time, there’s only one photo left; the other page is blank and you assume the rest of the book is, too. The picture is a glossy, black-and-white print. It’s a picture of Katya and Kennedy Davenport at the premiere of season seven: she’s clutching onto Kennedy’s hand for dear life. Her mouth is agape; her eyes are sparkling while she stares excitedly up at a screen. His fingers brush the edges of the photograph; you smile and run your finger along the tape on the corners.

His shoulder moves a little, you worm your way closer to him, his fingers tighten around your shoulder. His face moves against your head and his shoulders shake again. His hand moves to brush against your fingers, he jerks again and you squirm to look up at him. He lets out a shaky sigh; you feel his jaw quiver against your head. Your heart sinks in your chest. You lean forward and put the book gently on the coffee table.

You pull back and look at him; there are tears in his eyes that are threatening to spill down his cheeks. The lines in his forehead are more pronounced with a pained look on his face; his bottom lip is quivering, creating dimples in his chin. You brush a hand across his jaw and rest it at the back of his neck; you pull him down to you and hug him. He presses his face into your neck and wraps his arms around your waist.

A sob racks through his body, you blink back tears and hold him tight. He sobs again and squeezes you closer, burying his face deeper into the side of your neck. You can feel the tears start to stain your shirt and run across your collarbone, you rub his back slowly. He’s crying heavily now, you shift yourself farther away so that your back is against the arm rest, he stretches out and lays on top of you.

“I’m so blessed, so why do I feel like this?” He mumbles against your neck.

“Like what, Bri’?” You coo and hold him tighter; he lets out another miserable sob before speaking again.

“I’m so stressed, I love them all so much. I just-” You can barely make out what he’s saying over the heaving breaths he’s taking. You hush him softly and rock him from side to side.

“And everyone loves you very much, there’s no doubt.” You rub your cheek harder into his soft hair.

“I love everything about this. I just- I’m just so grateful. B-but...” He hardly manages to get the words out around his trembling lips; his voice vibrates against your neck.

“You’re so strong, Bri’. It’s okay to take a step away and still be grateful.” Tears sting your eyes and your voice cracks a few times. His arms squeeze painfully tight around your ribs and he cries harder still.

You run your fingers through his hair and press your cheek into the top of his head while he sobs. It worries you to see him like this, to see him so vulnerable. The intimacy of this moment is so raw that it sparks a flame in you: you want to protect him. The desire is so strong that it fills your heart to burst; the heat rises in your throat and burns through every neuron in your brain. Tears spill down your cheeks, the feeling is so intense that it scares you: you’re in way too deep to turn back now.


End file.
